


aphrodite ourania

by pumpkinpaperweight



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 02:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpaperweight/pseuds/pumpkinpaperweight
Summary: A Plan For Sophie's Three Months Of Father-Ordained Hell In Netherwood:a) upstage everyone in a grand entrance (roses?? pearls?? maybe bring doves)b) avoid the queen (still can't remember her name) for said three months, allow her to admire from afar (and afar ONLY)c) find REAL friend, courtier of unknown rank named aggie (short for something???)d) scope out elegible courtiers (doubt there'll be any...)e) go home, having learned nothing (that will teach the old fools)





	aphrodite ourania

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anomalousGreenhorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousGreenhorn/gifts).



> Written for Val (@ofthickettumble on Tumblr, anomalousGreenhorn here) as they suggested the idea of a nicphie bodyguard au in the first place, and I thought it'd be a fun little idea  
> ...  
> It took me eight months, is over 21k words, and nearly killed me. But it WAS fun!   
> Enjoy!

“ _ Netherwood?” _ Sophie demands. “That’s miles away!”

Her stepmother shrugs. Sophie thinks that she at least has the decency to look slightly ashamed.

“It’s just what your father says. Don’t worry, it’s not permanent, and you’ll stay at the castle, so you can take all your nice clothes.”

Sophie sniffs.

“Father just wants me out of the way after the goat incident, doesn’t he?”

Honora looks uncomfortable.

“…no. Well, actually it was the Elder's suggestion, he just...”

She trails off as Sophie stares at her.

“Well, maybe.” Honora mutters. “Look, Sophie, I know it doesn’t seem fair, but it might be nice! Go somewhere different… make some friends…”

She is fixed under Sophie’s piercing gaze.

“He wants to get rid of me, I understand.” Sophie says, with forced calm. “What am I to be doing, then? Mucking out stables? Becoming a squire for a knight? Scrubbing my hands raw in the kitchens, working as a  _ scullery maid?” _

Her voice rises in pitch on the last few words, making Honora wince.

“Oh… um, no, actually. You’re to join the newly crowned Queen’s court.”

Sophie blinks.

“Really?”

That was distinctly non-labour intensive. There had to be a catch.

“Yes. The queen’s advisors feel she would benefit from having a… companion.”

“A companion?”

“She’s quite… work-focused.”

“Sounds like she just doesn’t have any friends, if you ask me.” Mutters Sophie. “Well, she could do much worse.”

Honora blinks at her.

“You… you’ll do it?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose.” Sighs Sophie. “Netherwood could benefit from a bit of good fashion influence.”

Honora is obviously not convinced. Sophie rolls her eyes.

“ _ And _ as it happens, I’m in correspondence with someone in the court there. So I won’t be horribly lonely.”

“Oh! Oh… that’s a rel- um, really nice.” Says Honora. Sophie, who knows perfectly well what she was about to say, just smiles sweetly at her.

“It is, isn’t it? Can you tell father that I’ll go, provided he doesn’t let Adam or Jacob have my rooms whilst I’m away? I know he likes to let them have all my things, especially my favour in court, but I’m sure he could make an exception.”

Honora sighs. Neither of them could deny that both the court and Stefan’s treatment of Sophie’s stepbrother’s- Honora’s sons- was much more favourable than their treatment of Sophie.

“I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you!” Chirps Sophie, then turns away to decide what to pack, effectively signalling that their conversation was over.

* * *

 

“Do you really need  _ two  _ coaches?” asks Stefan weakly, watching a snaking line of pages and servants stagger towards the coaches, tottering beneath the weight of numerous trunks, bags and boxes, stuffed with Sophie’s outfits and beauty products.

Sophie shrugs, examining her nails.

“Well, if you were going to send me away, you should have thought about that. I need all my clothes, don’t I?”

A boy trips over a loose flagstone and goes sprawling onto the courtyard floor, spilling cloaks all over the floor.

“Those are  _ Baby Bear  _ autumn collection! They’re  _ just right _ \- or they  _ were _ before you threw them all over the floor!” Sophie bellows. The boy leaps to his feet like he’s been shocked, and runs to scoop up the cloaks, looking terrified.

Sophie turns back to her father- just in time to see her stepbrothers come trotting down the stairs.

“Sophie!”

Adam comes rushing over first, bounding along with his unending enthusiasm. Jacob trails behind his brother, a grubby, slightly crumpled, piece of paper clutched in his fists.

“Father says you’re going away?”

“Yes.” Sophie says shortly. “I am.”

“Like a holiday?” demands Jacob.

“I suppose so. A very long holiday, which I  _ didn’t choose to go on.”  _ Sophie stares pointedly at Stefan over the boy’s heads, as Honora comes trailing down the steps in her son’s wake. Stefan doesn’t meet her gaze. He looks slightly guilty.

Good. He should.

“I made you a card!”

Jacob thrusts the paper forwards, and Sophie can just about make out wobbly writing spelling out HaVe FuN In Nevrwod NeThErWOoD, accompanied with a scribbly drawing of a blonde girl in a pink dress.

“Oh… so you did.” Says Sophie, and, seeing her father glaring at her over the top of Jacob’s head, reluctantly extracts the crumpled paper from Jacob with thumb and forefinger, trying to avoid some of the most dubious stains.

Jacob looks very pleased. Adam frowns.

“How long are you going for?”

“As long as father wishes me to go.” Says Sophie shortly, glancing over at Stefan. The king frowns.

“I believe I agreed with her majesty that three months would be sufficient.”

“Of course.” Sophie smiles tightly and turns to descend the steps. “Well then, I shall see you in three months.”

“Yes.” Says Stefan. “You will.”

Honora and her sons look surprised as she swoops down the steps towards her carriage. Perhaps they’re taken aback that Sophie doesn’t linger longer, or that there was nothing more heartfelt in her goodbye.

Sophie really doesn’t know what they expected.

* * *

 

Netherwood is a dark, dreary, dismal sort of place. It’s raining with gusto when Sophie’s carriages draw close to the city limits, and the cold is seeping through the carriage walls, making her shiver and bundle her fur cloak closer around her.

Aggie had never mentioned how  _ boring  _ the place was, she thinks, watching as they pass squat little farmer’s cottages and ploughed fields.

Her correspondent was a girl around her age in the Netherwood royal court, known only to Sophie as “Aggie”. One of her many tutors, Clarissa Dovey, had put them in touch several years ago, after Sophie had showed an affinity for scaring off most of the other potential friends in court. Aggie was to the point, utterly without graces, and clever to the point of insufferable. They shouldn’t have gotten along, but, somehow, they did. Aggie was witty and sardonic and had a writing style that was impressively captivating, despite the fact all she ever seemed to write about was her cat, the court, or what she’d read this week. But Sophie liked her, and she liked Sophie, and that was really the only reason Sophie hadn’t thrown a fit about being packed off so suddenly.

She slumps back in her seat, scowling. They’re nearly at the entrance to the city, and she’s glad for it- the bumpy forest road and the imposing shadows of the trees that surround them are unpleasant. She’s impatient to get to the castle, to meet her friend and show all the rest of the old fools at court how it’s done-

The driver shouts, the horses give a startled whinny, and the footman on the back curses loudly. Irritated, Sophie stands to find out what the fuss is about-

The carriage lurches to a halt, hurling Sophie into an undignified heap on the floor.

She struggles to her feet, spitting out her hair-

The door bashes open.

“Your valuables or your life, miss.” Says a masked bandit, pointing a flintlock at her heart.

* * *

 

She doesn’t go down without a fight.

She’s towed out of the coach, shrieking and swearing all the way, whilst another two bandits rifle carelessly through the trunks stacked in the second carriage, stuffing what they want in their bags, pockets, and hats, and tossing what they don’t want into the mud.

“Those are  _ designer,  _ you  _ heathens!”  _ Sophie wails as her booties go soaring in a neat arc over someone’s shoulder and land in a pile of manure.

“Not anymore they’re not, girlie!” grins the leader, tossing the hog-tied footman and the driver into the mud beside her and the horses are re-saddled for the bandits’ use.

Sophie gasps as one of her gowns is hurled into a muddy puddle. The man just laughs.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get lots of money from the jewels. You important, missy? There’s a lot of diamonds there for one girl.”

Sophie glowers at him.

“You’ll regret this.”

“I’m sure.” He tells her, then turns to the others, who have finished ransacking her trunks and stuffing her jewels and valuables into their pockets. “Let’s move out, boys!”

Sophie draws herself up to her full height-

“How  _ dare  _ you.”

The bandit groans.

“You’re a talker, ain’t ya? Look, sweetheart-”

He brings his boot down on her dresses and grinds them into a twisted tangle, in the mud.

“-I think you better shut up. They ain’t no good to ya now. Come on, lads, we’re-”

Sophie slaps him.

The young footman squeaks in fear as the bandit recoils briefly, gasping-

Before unfurling himself back to his full height.

Even the gnarled old driver looks wary.

“Wrong choice, girlie.”

He shoves her into the mud next to all her clothes.

Sophie screams herself hoarse after they’re gone. The footman and the driver sit there and stare at her, as she stamps and shrieks in the middle of the deserted road, their carriages tipped over and providing precisely no shelter from the sheets of rain which sweep across the road.

She flings herself back down onto the floor, panting, and glowers at the driver as if it’s  _ his  _ fault. The driver ignores her-

Something catches her eye.

Sophie turns to see a crumpled bit of paper lying, forgotten, in the mud. The ink is running from the rain, but she still knows what it says;

HaVe FuN In Nevrwod NeThErWOoD, with a drawing of her in one of her best dresses.

Sophie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she does both.

* * *

 

They’re still there, shivering under a tree, several hours later. Sophie has managed to fully convince herself that they’re going to die here, and is now attempting to work out how she could die of hypothermia but still retain her dignity-

The clatter of hooves breaks into her thoughts, and for a minute, she’s sure that the bandits have come to finish them off… but no. There’s two riders approaching, not three, leading a few small ponies with them. As they approach, Sophie staggers to her feet, wondering if she might be able to ask for help-

“Princess Sophie?”

Sophie nearly sobs with relief.

“Yes! Yes, oh, thank goodness you’re here…”

The two riders are both young, only about her age, dark eyes peering from under their thick hoods. The leading one, a girl with ebony curls plastered to her deep brown skin, dismounts.

“We’ve been sent by the Queen.” She tells her. “We were concerned when you didn’t arrive when you said you would, and there was word in the city of bandits…”

“Yes, yes, thank you, spare me the explanations, just get me out of here!” Sophie demands, nearly hysterical.

The girl raises one dark eyebrow. Sophie peers at her military jacket and the rapier at her side.

“Are you a knight?”

“I’m the captain of the royal guard.” She says shortly. “But seeing as you don’t want explanations, perhaps you’d just prefer to take one of these ponies and ride back with us?”

Sophie opens her mouth to protest, realises her other option, and does as the Captain says. The other rider, a boy with a pasty, almost rodent-like, face, peers at her with interest. Sophie glares at him and he looks away.

The ride back is cold and miserable. The captain’s name is Nicola, and the other is known as Viscount Hort, though why anyone in their right mind would make him a Viscount, Sophie has no idea. All the Viscounts  _ she  _ knew were handsome.

They trudge back through the empty streets, and the fog and rain is so heavy that Sophie doesn’t even notice the palace until they’re there- a sprawling, grey stone building teetering on a cliff above the forests that surround it.

_ Apparently even the castle is dismal _ , Sophie thinks gloomily, as the gates are opened for them and Nicola leads them inside.

At least it’s warm.

Sophie’s driver and footman are escorted off by a couple of servants, leaving Sophie with Nicola and Hort in the entrance hall.

Nicola shrugs off her sodden cloak and shakes water droplets from her thick, dark curls.

“The queen will be glad you’re here- I think she’s been looking forward to your arrival.”

Sophie scoffs.

“Everyone is just making it sound like she hasn’t got any friends. I suppose I’m meant to be here for her, but I’m not really interested.”

“Why did you come here if you’re not interested in the queen?” asks Nicola.

“Oh, because my father wanted to get rid of me for a while.” Sniffs Sophie. “Ever since the goat incident.”

“The…  _ goat  _ incident?”

“Yes. Don’t ask.” Says Sophie. “But I suppose I didn’t kick up a fuss because I’m in correspondence with someone in court, she’s become a friend of mine. I don’t suppose you know an Aggie?”

Nicola exchanges a bewildered look with Hort.

“Erm…”

“Probably not.” Sighs Sophie, before they can answer. “You must be out doing all that horrible sweaty stuff all the time, with swords and whatnot. Can I just get changed and stop dripping horrible muddy water all over the floor?

Hort nods quickly, apparently desperate to improve her mood.

“Of course! We don’t want you to get hypothermia, come on, you can go and get changed, then the Queen will receive you briefly, and you can eat with us-”

“Oh, you’re here, thank god-!”

Sophie turns to see another young woman rushing down the stairs, and for a moment, assumes she’s a servant, some friend of Nicola’s, if the plain blue gown and straight, practical haircut are anything to go by, and she’s as pasty and gangly as Hort-

But then Nicola snaps to attention and Hort bows, and Sophie catches sight of the diadem perched crookedly on the greasy dark hair-

“You’re the  _ queen?”  _ she says, utterly disbelieving, before she can stop herself. The young woman slows a little, and blinks once or twice.

“Um… yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but… well. I’ll explain later. I’m so glad you’re here!”

She starts forward again, but Sophie is at her wit’s end. She is stood in the entrance hall of a dreary, grey castle, dripping mud and water everywhere, her clothes are ruined, her valuables stolen, she’s far from home, and this woman has not got an  _ inch  _ of queenly poise, decorum or grace- her social skills leave something (actually, a lot) to be desired. Sophie barely has any idea what she’s talking about.

“Yes, apparently I’ve been sent here to be your friend.” Sophie sniffs. “And, frankly, darling, I can see why. You don’t really look like your portraits. They’re a bit… generous.”

In fact, all the portraits of this woman that Sophie have seen have been  _ very  _ generous. They didn’t show the long nose, the unflattering haircut or the buggy, over expressive eyes with flat, dark eyebrows at all.

The other woman has stopped in front of her, now. Something about her is nagging Sophie, something about her speech and her manner, but she’s too tired and too irritated to consider it.

“Um…” the queen laughs, slightly awkwardly. It’s raspy and largely unattractive. “Yeah, they’re not that accurate. Sorry? But here, you must be cold, let’s go upstairs, you can borrow some of my clothes-”

Sophie snorts.

“I don’t think you’ll have anything for me.”

“Don’t worry, I can have them altered, or it can just be temporary, come on-”

She tries to take her hand, and Sophie snatches hers away. She is  _ not  _ here to be dragged around by a silly teenager who outranks her in nothing but title.

“What are you doing? Are you  _ sure  _ you’re the queen? You’re not acting like one.”

Nicola tries to say something, but the queen smiles, and Sophie winces at how creepy it looks.

“Oh… I suppose you’re right. Sorry. I’m overexcited, but to finally meet you-!”

“I suppose I’m popular across most of the Woods, what with my fashion line.” Agrees Sophie. “Frankly darling, I think you’d need it, I’ve never seen a queen look so much like a matron before, and that includes my stepmother. My goodness. Maybe you should start there.”

The queen’s smile wavers.

“W-what? No. We- we know each-”

Sophie is rapidly losing patience.

“Look,  _ your majesty, _ I’m cold and tired and I don’t want to be here, and all of my things have been stolen by bandits, so I’m just going to tell it to you straight- I’m not interested in being your friend. I know your advisors want you to have a companion, or whatever, but I think you’re trying too hard. What I’m going to do is I’m going to go upstairs, find something,  _ somewhere,  _ that doesn’t make me look like an utter disaster, get something to eat, and find my  _ real _ friend.”

The other woman’s smile is completely gone, now.

“Your… real friend?” she says.

“Yes, someone in court, who is probably going to be the only person who I can tolerate in this dismal place. Her name is Aggie, do you know her? We’ve been writing for months. She’s a dear.”

The queen is silent for a moment. And then she says;

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced, Princess Sophie.”

“No,” Sophie agrees. “You didn’t give us much time for that.”

This time, the queen’s smile is tight and obviously forced. It doesn’t make it look better.

“Let me make time now, then.”

“If you  _ must.”  _ Sighs Sophie.

“Well then. I’m pleased to meet you, Princess Sophie of Gavaldon.” The queen draws herself up to her full height, mouth tight, but the waver in her voice gives her away. “I am Queen Agatha of Netherwood.”

Sophie’s stomach plunges.

Agatha, which could be shortened to…

_ Oh, Sophie, you imbecile… _

“Some people call me  _ Aggie _ . And I’m afraid that you’ve already made it quite clear that you don’t tolerate her at all.” Snaps her first, and best, friend.

She turns abruptly on her heel and stalks away, leaving Sophie with a scowling Nicola and a cringing Hort, surrounded by a slowly seeping puddle of muddy rainwater.

Sophie is sure she hears a sob before the queen turns the corner and is gone.

There is a horribly long, painful silence.

“Well, you totally bollocksed that up.” says Nicola, finally. “Come on, O sweet Princess. I’m gonna make you look as much like a  _ matron _ as I possibly can.”

* * *

 

Dinner is painful.

Agatha won’t look at her throughout the whole meal, and ignores her attempts to apologise or talk to her. The other courtiers stare at her too-long dress and her bedraggled hair, Nicola stands stoically at the wall behind Agatha’s chair, and won’t look at her. Hort won’t meet her eyes, either. Sophie can hear two noblewomen whispering nearby;

_ “Not even an hour in, and she’s lost the only friend she thought she had…” _

_ “Should have known it was too good to be true. As if she could befriend someone like that…” _

Sophie frowns at her plate. Apparently Agatha wasn’t popular here. She couldn’t see why. The Agatha  _ she  _ knew was perfectly charming.

Sophie stares at her friend, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to not recognise her. Of  _ course  _ this was Agatha. She’d never once mentioned being the heir to the throne or in the royal family, let alone the  _ Queen,  _ but it hardly mattered- Sophie should have recognised her at once. Her Agatha would never have favoured fashion over a book or a haircut over governance. Everything about her was practical and studious, the same way she was. And she’d been so excited to see her…

A pang of guilt twists Sophie’s gut, and she pushes her plate away. She’s not familiar with the emotion. It just makes her feel worse.

The second dinner is over, Sophie is out of her seat and chasing Agatha. But Agatha is tall, taller than Sophie, and knows the castle much better, and soon Sophie is struggling to keep up, let alone apologise.

“Aga-tha-” she huffs, staggering up the staircase after her. “I’m- sorry-“

Agatha just walks faster, Nicola trotting easily beside her.

“Aggie!” Sophie stumbles up a few steps, determined not to be left behind.

_ “Don’t call me that _ .” Snaps Agatha without turning around, stalking onto an offshoot corridor.

Sophie’s remaining hope withers, and she stumbles finally to a halt.

“But-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, your highness. There’s an advisor’s meeting at nine. I hope it’s not too boring for you.” Says Agatha, and then she’s gone.

Huffing, Sophie leans miserably against the wall as Hort totters up behind her, fairly sure that Agatha knew she never got up before ten.

* * *

 

She’s woken the next morning after a miserable night, to Nicola hammering on her door.

Sophie staggers out of bed and yanks open the door.

“What?”

“Oh, good, you’re alive.” Nicola leans on the doorframe, chomping on an apple. “I was starting to think you’d tried to climb out the window and fallen to your death, or something.”

Sophie glares at her. Nicola offers her a mocking smile.

“Half past eight, princess! Advisors meeting at nine. Get dressed, if you can bear it, I’ll wait here, and then you can go and watch the Queen do a very good job at being a queen, no matter what you say.”

Sophie scowls.

“Why have you got to wait for me?”

Nicola yawns.

“Well, unless you wanna go wandering around the castle all day, you need someone to guide you. Also, after the bandit debacle yesterday, the queen feels that you might need someone to protect you. She suggested I do it. Originally it was because I’m the best, but now I think it’s just because I can piss you of the most.”

Sophie is silent. Nicola casts a pointed glance at the clock across the hall.

“If you want anything to eat, you should probably hurry up.”

Sophie slams the door in her face.

* * *

 

The court meeting is hellish.

Agatha’s court is about ten elderly courtiers who dodder in twenty minutes late, a group of younger nobles, including Hort, who sit in a huddle and glare at Sophie, and the seemingly never-ending ranks of children of the elderly courtiers, all in their mid-twenties, and all sneering the second Agatha sets foot inside.

Sophie sits in-between Nicola, and Agatha’s chair, and watches as Agatha stalks in, a couple of guards hurrying after her, and winces as she slams her papers down onto the table.

“Good morning, my lords and ladies.” She says through gritted teeth. “Please be seated. Before we begin, is there anything anyone would like to raise or suggest?”

A heavily ringed hand shoots up.

“Yes, Lady Aurelia?” Agatha says tiredly. Sophie feels sorry for her, but even sorrier for Lady Aurelia, whose decorated wig is teetering precariously on her head, and whose eyeshadow looks like it was blended by a toddler. Tragic.

“Well, your majesty, I wonder if maybe, as a welcoming gift for Princess Sophie, it would be quite alright, for we, as the court, to host a dinner party tonight?”

Next to Sophie, Nicola clicks her tongue, irritated. The clump of younger nobles, gathered at Agatha’s elbow, exchange glances.

“As… the court?” asks Agatha, confused.

“Yes- as a chance for  _ us _ to get to know her, you know? Considering I think she already has quite a well-founded opinion of you.”

Sophie’s mouth drops open. No one notices.

“Yes, I see.” Says Agatha, jaw clenched tightly. “That’s a good idea.”

“And it gives you an opportunity to get some work done without any of us distracting you!” chirps Lady Aurelia.

“Quite.” Manages Agatha. “But why don’t you ask Sophie? After all, it’s for her.”

She turns to look at her for the first time since yesterday, and Sophie can tell that she’s expecting her to be completely heartless about it, like last night.

Sophie sits up, draws breath to say  _ no,  _ to redeem herself _ - _

And thinks about it.

She could  _ not _ go, and immediately get back in Agatha’s good books.

_ Or,  _ she could go, smile politely, get as much blackmail opportunity as possible, and then, starting right at the end of the dinner, wreck their lives for the next two months with a vengeance.

And that would  _ also  _ get her back into Agatha’s good books.

But it  _ would _ require looking like a heartless cow first.

She chooses the second option, because, honestly, what has she got to lose? Agatha already hates her.

“That sounds wonderful.” She tells Lady Aurelia, and tries not to notice the way Agatha’s face drops beside her.

It makes her feel guilty.

_ Really  _ guilty.

“-but I don’t think it would hurt if Aggie came as well.” she hurries on. “After all, we’ve hardly spoken in person.”

Lady Aurelia’s face wavers, but her smile is soon back in place.

“Of course. Formal dress?”

“Naturally.” Sophie smiles back.

Agatha scowls.

Sophie remembers how Agatha hates formal dress.

… oops.

The second they’re out of court (which Sophie had paid zero attention to), Nicola grabs her arm and yanks her to the side.

“Are you  _ crazy?  _ Do you not realise that they all hate Queen Agatha? They’re trying to embarrass her?”

“I  _ know,  _ but I’ve got a plan.” Sophie tells her. “But first, tell me- are they  _ always  _ that rude?”

“Normally they’re worse.” Grunts Nicola, watching Hort chase after a rapidly departing Agatha. “They even tried to embarrass her at her coronation, you know? But there’s nothing she can do, there’s too many of them, and they could easily make her even more unpopular- they already smear her in the press as it is. Nothing deep, though- mostly making fun of her  _ looks _ .”

The last few words are directed pointedly to Sophie, and Sophie winces.

“Alright, alright… I  _ am  _ going to apologise, you know that, right?”

Nicola raises her eyebrows.

“Mhm.”

Unsure whether it’s a doubtful expression or something else entirely, Sophie barrels on.

“Well, look- can we go to the gardens?”

“The… gardens?”

Nicola looks doubtfully at her glass slippers, one of the only items of clothing to have survived the bandit attack from yesterday.

Sophie takes the point.

“I suppose it would be preferable if someone else found the frogs.” She muses.

“ _ Frogs?” _

* * *

 

To Nicola’s credit, she does come back with the frogs. And some worms. And the itching powder.

“What are you planning?” she demands, putting the angrily croaking box on the table. “What’s that?”

“My gown.” Says Sophie, slashing another rip into the newly puffed sleeves.

Nicola looks at the gown. Then at the frogs. Then the itching powder.

“Is your plan, by any chance, to upstage everyone and then get intense revenge on all of the courtiers based off what they say tonight?”

Sophie smiles sweetly at her.

“You’re very perceptive.” She peers down at her dress, frowning. “Don’t suppose Aggie owns anything really nice, does she?”

Nicola snorts.

“Don’t bet on it.” Her face softens a bit. “Poor Agatha. She was really excited for you to get here, you know.”

“Oh, don’t.” murmurs Sophie, stabbing her needle back into the fabric. “I barely know you, don’t start acting like my stepmother.”

“Who’s gonna, if I don’t?” Nicola sits down opposite her and props her boots on the table.

“Who said you  _ need  _ to?”

“You, when you were really rude?”

“I wasn’t  _ that  _ rude! I was upset-”

“There’s not an  _ excuse  _ for it! From what I can tell, you’re a spoiled brat who  _ needs  _ a reprimand, no matter how much revenge you want to get on courtiers, because, frankly, they’re just like you!”

Sophie slams down her needle.

“How  _ dare  _ you? I am a  _ Princess-” _

“You are  _ so  _ proving my point-”

“-and the only thing I need to be  _ reprimanded _ for is being rude to Agatha, and she can do it  _ herself! _ ” Sophie squawks.

“Fat chance, considering she won’t even talk to you and she burned quite a few of your letters last night before I stopped her.” Snarls Nicola.

“I- she-” Sophie stumbles to a stop.  _ “What?” _

It’s clear that Nicola immediately knows she’s gone too far.

“Okay, maybe that was unfair, but-”

“She  _ burned  _ them?” Sophie squeaks.

“Only a couple.” Mutters Nicola. “I told her she’d probably regret it, and she did lay off. But yeah, she-”

Sophie bursts into tears.

* * *

 

So, it’s armed with a very,  _ very  _ strong resolve to make it up to Agatha that Sophie goes down to dinner that night, even if it’s also with a three foot train of tulle and silk and an exasperated Nicola, who has basically only changed her jacket.

“What’s the  _ point?”  _ she demands as Sophie manoeuvres her way down one of the staircases. “You’re going to sit down for two hours!”

“And I’m going to look the best whilst I do it.” Sophie dismisses. Nicola rolls her eyes.

“And also when you apologise to the Queen?”

“And also when I do that.” Sophie agrees, and it’s with a slightly more mollified attitude that Nicola follows her down to dinner.

Obviously, it all goes horribly wrong.

Agatha is already there when Sophie gets there, hovering awkwardly behind her chair, hair scraped back into a small, severe, twist at the back of her neck, diadem still slightly crooked, tugging anxiously on the sleeves of her slightly-more-embellished-than-normal grey dress. ( _ Grey?  _ Oh, come on.) The rest of the courtiers drift around and chatter, occasionally shooting smug glances over Agatha, who is stood silently on the edge of a group including Hort and two other girls, one deathly pale and solemn, the other short and plump-

Everyone is staring at her.

Sophie wonders if this is good or not. Usually it is, but there’s a malicious glint in some eyes that she doesn’t like at all-

“Oh, my, you look  _ wonderful!” _

Lady Aurelia elbows her way through the crowd, wrapped so tightly in mottled purple silk that she looks like a snake being strangled. “What a beautiful  _ colour!  _ No monochrome here! Lovely shaping as well, not at all prudish- where on earth did you get it?”

Sophie tries her best not to fawn under the praise, considering it’s all structured to also be a jab at Agatha (and that she’s going to put itching powder in Aurelia’s wig later) but it’s so relentless that it’s hard.

“I made it myself.” She tells her, somewhat proudly, as she’s guided towards her chair (which is a considerable distance from Agatha’s).

There is an approving murmur from the courtiers.

“Wow!” Another woman’s eyes damn near fall out of her head. “Beautiful, fashionable  _ and  _ talented! You rarely get royalty like that nowadays- especially not  _ here _ .”

Someone snickers.

Agatha sits down stiffly and glares at her plate. Though she feels bad, and they’re horrible, Sophie nearly snorts at the courtiers’ attitudes.

How unsubtle could they possibly get?

* * *

 

The answer? A whole lot more.

By halfway through the second course, someone is bemoaning the state of the nation to her left, someone is complaining about taxes to her right, and opposite her, Ladies Aurelia and Lucielle are talking loudly and tipsily about the Princess Regent of Jaunt Jolie, and how the people love her so much they have to send out a decoy whenever she goes out, in case of kidnapping, and there are golden statues of her all over the city, with suitors trying to climb the walls of the castle.

“We had to up the security, too…” sighs Lucielle. “But not for the same reason.”

Sophie pretends to not understand as they burst into giggles. Unfortunately, she’s not gotten much blackmail opportunity at all. They talk about themselves, but only to brag about their clothes or their hair or their social engagements. It’s ridiculous. Do they know how self-centred they sound? Do they care?

She makes this point to Nicola, who is stationed near Agatha’s chair, and frowns at the incredulous look she receives-

But now Lady Aurelia is leaning over to talk to Agatha, oh nooooo-

“Pardon my asking, your majesty-”

Hah!

“-but how is it that you know Princess Sophie? You’re quite… different. I wouldn’t have thought you’d get on well.”

Agatha frowns, laying down her fork. She’s been mostly silent throughout the meal, not really responding to attempts to talk to her. Sophie hopes she hasn’t been listening, but she almost definitely has been.

“We were put in contact by my old tutor, Clarissa Dovey.” She says carefully. “I think she felt we could relate to one another.”

Doubtful eyes flit from Sophie to Agatha and back again.

Lady Aurelia smiles completely falsely.

“I must admit, I don’t understand that, but alright. Does that mean you’d never met before, until yesterday?”

“No, we’d never met.”

“So… you didn’t know what the other looked like?”

Oh, how cheap…

“No.” Agatha says again, determinedly measured.

“Makes sense why she’d carry on writing, then.”

“What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” bursts out one of the younger courtiers- the albino girl. Sophie’s seen her with Agatha often. Lady Aurelia regards her coolly.

“I’m merely suggesting that they’re quite different. Smooth your feathers, Countess Anadil.”

Furious, Anadil starts to rise, but Agatha holds up a hand and she slumps back into her chair again, scowling.

Sophie has to admit it; she’s impressed by Agatha’s self-control, but it’s quickly, and visibly, fracturing.

“That… doesn’t mean people can’t be friends.” Agatha forces out. Aurelia shrugs.

“Well, normally I’d agree, but I have to admit it, I didn’t think Sophie was particularly interested in being friends.”

Agatha’s jaw tenses.

“How could you possibly know that? I don’t appreciate your interest in my personal life-”

Lord Theodore snorts. Loudly. People are starting to snigger, and Sophie can see the back of Agatha’s neck going red.

“Oh, come now, your highness-  it’s not particularly personal, if it’s in the middle of the entrance hall, is it? Most of us heard it. She’s not _interested-_ she said it herself! And, frankly, I don’t blame her.” Her eyes flick disdainfully over Agatha. “She’s more of a Queen than you are.”

Anadil shoots to her feet, Hort yanks her back down, someone down the other end of the table bursts out laughing-

Agatha and Aurelia stare at each other for a long, long, moment- long after the sudden burst of laughter had faded and Anadil and Hort had stopped fighting.

There’s a cruel little smile threatening to break onto Aurelia’s face, and Agatha’s eyes are dangerously bright-

“Get out.” Agatha whispers.

Aurelia’s smile disappears.

“…what?”

“Get out.” Agatha says again, louder, this time.

Everyone stares at her. No one moves a muscle.

There’s another beat.

Aurelia snorts, picking up her glass.

“I’m hosting this dinner, you can’t kick me-”

“Nicola, escort Lady Aurelia, Lady Lucielle and the others out.” says Agatha. “Anadil, Hort, come with me.”

Sophie hasn’t even been mentioned.

She sags, disheartened-

Aurelia lurches to her feet, white with fury.

“You won’t even confront me yourself? Hide behind your guards, why don’t you-”

Agatha wheels on her, furious.

“FINE!” she howls. “FINE! I  _ ORDER _ YOU TO GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!  _ GET OUT! _ ”

She does.

In fact, they all do. Herded by Nicola, they pile out- muttering and whispering and shooting dirty looks, but leaving, nonetheless.

Agatha stands there for a beat more, chest heaving, then turns and stalks away without even glancing at Sophie.

Sophie doesn’t follow her- she watches her leave, ignoring Anadil and Hort’s attempts to talk to her, Nicola following silently behind, and her eyes narrow.

Sophie had promised that she would apologise to Agatha.

And she would…

In a bit.

* * *

 

“Lady Aurelia!”

Sophie rushes after the herd of courtiers, clutching the bottle of fine wine they’d been drinking from.

Aurelia turns and smiles.

“Oh- Princess, I’m glad to see you. I’m sorry you had to see  _ that _ side of her… unfortunately it’s easy to conceal in letters.”

“It’s not a problem.” Sophie smiles back. “I’ve developed some… opinions, now, I think.”

“Oh, like what?” Aurelia smiles thinly. “I won’t tell.”

“Well… I think I’ve decided something about you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes- you’re a vile old cow and I hope you get everything that’s coming to you.”

“ _ What-” _

She trails off into a scream as Sophie upends the bottle of wine all over her dress.

“You  _ witch!”  _ she shrieks, dripping with vintage chardonnay.

“I’ve heard that before, yes.” Says Sophie. “But pick on Aggie again, and you’ll have  _ much _ worse things than wine to deal with, darling.”

She turns and swoops away, leaving Aurelia gasping in the hall and the other courtiers wide-eyed in a gaggle around her.

About an hour later, she’s finished bribing the servants, the frogs have all been dispatched, the itching powder distributed, and a letter sent to the editor of the  _ Royal Rot,  _ and Sophie marches up to Agatha’s rooms, determined to finish the last task on her list-

“Something tells me she won’t be happy to see you.” Says Nicola, loitering by the door. At Sophie’s confused look, she sighs.

“I decided my priority was the Queen, and, seeing as Aurelia didn’t fight you, it seems that I was right. I don’t think she’ll see you.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“She won’t talk to me. Or Anadil. Or Hort.”

Sophie snorts.

“She’ll talk to  _ me.” _

“She really won’t. Go to bed. Or carry on with your revenge plan. Whatever.”

Sophie purses her lips.

“I suppose carrying on with my revenge plan does sound rather appealing…”

Nicola looks rather relieved as she turns to leave, kicking off her heels to carry them-

Sophie whirls back and hurls her shoe at Nicola.

Nicola ducks, and Sophie lunges for the door handle. Nicola grabs her around the waist, Sophie trips her, and both of them fall into the door, which slams open, and Nicola and Sophie tumble onto the carpet, swearing and grappling with each other-

“AGGIE I’M _ SORRY _ , GET NICOLA TO LET ME IN-  _ OW GET OFF-” _

“Nicola, let go of her.” Sighs Agatha’s voice from somewhere above them.

Sophie blinks.

“…really?”

“Do I  _ have  _ to?” grumbles Nicola. Agatha doesn’t say anything, but there must have been a look shared between them, because, suddenly, the pressure is gone and Nicola is returning to her position outside the door, grumbling to herself, and Anadil, Dot and Hort are shuffling after her, looking equally as mutinous-

The door snaps shut and Agatha and Sophie are alone.

Slowly, Sophie looks up from the floor to see Agatha sat stiffly on the sofa, scowling at her and holding the ugliest, baldest cast Sophie has ever seen in her life.

“ _ That’s  _ Reaper?” Sophie splutters, remembering the cat being mentioned in letters.

“Don’t know what you expected.” Agatha says coldly, letting Reaper jump down onto the sofa.

Sophie hauls herself back to her feet, trying to reorganise her skirts under Agatha’s frosty gaze. Eventually she gives up, and drops down to sit in one of the other chairs in a heap of tulle and lace.

“I’m  _ sorry,  _ Aggie.”

“I’ve noticed.” Agatha says.

“And you don’t believe me?”

Agatha doesn’t respond, fiddling with a mug on the side table.

“They were horrible, too.” Sophie says, quickly. “I wish I’d never tolerated them. I don’t understand how anyone could be so selfish. Or cruel...”

She trails off as Agatha lifts her gaze from the mug to stare at her.

“…what?” Sophie demands, uncomfortable. “I  _ said  _ I was sorry, don’t look at me like I’m the same-”

Agatha slams the mug down. Reaper hisses.

“But you  _ are!” _

Sophie gapes at her.

“I am  _ not!  _ I didn’t  _ mean _ to be mean to you!”

Agatha stabs an accusing finger at her.

“You’re  _ just  _ like them! You’ll be horrible to anyone if it makes you look better! I should have guessed, from some of the things you’ve said in your letters-”

“Which apparently you’ve been  _ burning,  _ so that shows how much you value the friends you actually have-”

“I think you’ve made it quite clear that we are  _ not  _ friends!” howls Agatha.

“Don’t be  _ stupid!” _

“If I wasn’t Agatha, would you feel bad about it?”

Sophie stops.

Agatha glares at her, now on her feet, fists balled tightly at her sides.

“Would you?” she demands.

Sophie opens her mouth to say  _ yes- _

Then remembers Jacob and Adam. And Honora. And the boy who’d dropped her cloaks. And the dozens of other dignitaries and servants and tutors who she’d been horrible to. People she’d never given a second thought. Maybe some of them had deserved it. Maybe some hadn’t. But she couldn’t distinguish the undeserving from the deserving, the well-meaning from the malicious, and  _ that  _ was the problem.

There’s a long, painful pause.

“No. I probably wouldn’t.” she says faintly.

Agatha just looks at her.

“Oh my god.” Sophie moans, putting her head in her hands. “I  _ am  _ like them.”

“There’s the revelation.” Murmurs Agatha. Sophie barely hears her, thinking back over what she’d said to Agatha, to Honora, to Jacob and Adam…

“Maybe Aurelia was onto something when she said I was a witch.” Sophie mutters into her hands.

“She said you were a witch? I thought you were best pals.” Agatha says, sounding bemused. Sophie peeks through her fingers at her.

“No. I poured wine on her and called her a vile old cow.”

Agatha blinks.

Sophie sags, defeated.

“Oh  _ no.  _ I don’t want to be lumped in with people like her!”

“Then you could try this radical thing; it’s called being  _ nice.” _

Sophie is sure that the tone is almost joking, but she doesn’t dare dwell on it.

“I’ll try.” She says faintly.

There’s a pause.

“Well, at least you can admit it.” Says Agatha gruffly. For the first time, there’s something like forgiveness in her tone.

Sophie looks up-

Someone shrieks outside.

Agatha looks at Sophie. Sophie looks at Agatha.

The shrieks get louder, and now they’re coupled with running feet and a familiar voice-

Agatha takes two large strides and yanks open the door, hurrying out onto the corridor, and to the banister that overlooks the hall below-

Sophie follows her, and together, they peek over the edge.

Lady Lucielle tears through the hall below, screaming, the hem of her dress hiked up to almost her knees, in absolute hysterics.

Then Sophie sees the brown shapes hopping erratically after her.

“Oh.” She says, with forced calm. “It worked.”

“FROGS!” wails Lucielle. “DIRTY GREAT FROGS IN MY SINK, AAAAAAA-”

She disappears through a door into another corridor, the frogs following after her.

“Actually, it was a mixture of frogs and toads that Nicola found for me.” Sophie says into the silence. “She clearly didn’t look hard enough.”

Agatha raises her flat eyebrows.

“You’ve been using your guard well, I see.”

Sophie peeks over at her, and she can definitely see the beginnings of a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.

“You got me a  _ personal guard.”  _ She says gleefully.

“Yeah, one that hates you.”

“Still…”

“You have a bad habit of making enemies quickly.” Sniffs Agatha, but she’s definitely smiling now.

“Nicola said it was because of the bandits.”

“Oh my god, the  _ bandits.”  _ Agatha grouses. “Do you  _ know  _ how freaked out I was?”

“And then I turned up and was a ghastly old witch to you.” Mutters Sophie.

“Yeah, you were.” Says Agatha, turning to head back to her room. “But maybe it’s okay to be a witch every once in a while.” She admits, glancing back at the remaining frogs sat aimlessly in the hallway.

“ _ Is  _ it?”

“Emphasis on  _ every once in a while.”  _ Agatha says, returning to her seat.

“I don’t  _ actually  _ think you dress like a matron.” Sulks Sophie.

“Yeah, you do.” Says Agatha, lifting Reaper back onto her lap. “That was really not the worst thing you said. I kind of do, anyway. I just don’t really care. About that, or about clothes.”

Sophie sighs, peering at the battered black boots that have just been made visible under the hem of Agatha’s dress.

“So I see.”

“What happened to being  _ nice?” _

“Aggie, they don’t  _ go together!”  _

“I don’t have a lot of time to go shopping.” Agatha dismisses.

Sophie scoffs.

“There’s always time for shopping- ooh!” Her eyes widen. “Let’s go tomorrow!”

“What?”

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow! I’ll get you something  _ hot.” _

“You will absolutely  _ not.” _

“Have you got any suitors?” demands Sophie.

“No.” Agatha says, but there’s something distinctly odd in her tone. Sophie frowns at her, but Agatha doesn’t elaborate.

“No?”

“No one wants to court a  _ matron _ , Sophie.”

“Oh, my god,  _ stop! _ I said I was sorry! Look, I’ll buy everything, and I need some new clothes anyway- we’re starting with some new shoes!”

“ _ No!  _ I refuse to give these up!”

“A new style in general, then.” Huffs Sophie.

“I am  _ not  _ going shopping with you!”

* * *

“No.” says Agatha, the next day, whilst they are shopping.

For the thirty thousandth time, Sophie notes.

“It’s  _ nice!” _

“It looks like a pavlova. Or an intestine.”

“Suit yourself.” Mutters Sophie, shoving it back onto the rack. Nicola is sat nearby, chomping on Sophie’s share of the free donuts the street vendor had given them once she’d recognised Agatha, who was apparently a regular. Sophie wasn’t surprised.

“You’re impossible to buy for.”

“Why do you think I have, like, no clothes?” yawns Agatha. Sophie scowls.

“What about your cloak? That you are wearing? Right now? That’s  _ nice.  _ That’s good quality fabric, and rare fur.”

“Oh.” Agatha goes slightly pink. “Um, it was a present.”

“Should have guessed you’d never pick it.” Sighs Sophie. Then she frowns. “A present from who?”

“Are we done yet?” Nicola appears behind them, brushing sugar off her breeches. “I’m cold.”

“So am I.” Agrees Agatha, and Sophie groans as she and Nicola make a beeline for the door. She might have gotten herself three gowns, a new pair of glass slippers, two necklaces, a hat, and a fur coat, (all to be sent up to the palace, obviously, she wasn’t  _ carrying  _ them) but Agatha is still distinctly lacking in purchases. But sensing it’s a battle not to be won today, she follows them out into the cold street, falling in beside Nicola, as Agatha buries her face in the collar of her cloak in an attempt to be overlooked. It’s surprisingly effective.

“I should buy you something.” Sophie tells Nicola brightly. “For catching me all those frogs. And getting the itching powder. Did you see Lord Theodore scratching his wig today?”

Nicola’s mouth twitches.

“He put his whole  _ hand  _ under it.” Then she frowns. “What happened to us hating each other?”

“I’m trying something new, it’s called  _ being nice.” _

“Good.” Says Nicola.

“What’s  _ that  _ meant to mean?”

Nicola ignores her.

“You can buy me a book.”

“A  _ book _ ?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing a bit more… exciting?”

“You’d buy  _ Agatha _ a book.” Mutters Nicola. Sophie rolls her eyes.

“Fine. I’ll get you a _ really nice  _ book.”

Nicola looks satisfied. Sophie sighs, trailing after Agatha as they head back to the castle.

“Why is no-one here interested in clothes?” she laments. Nicola and Agatha ignore her. “Fine, be like that. I’ll get you into fashion yet!”

Agatha snorts, but Nicola isn’t paying attention, peering behind them-

She stops abruptly and Sophie walks into her.

“Hey, what’s-”

Behind them, someone screams.

Nicola’s arm snaps out before the scream has stopped, her hand closing around Agatha’s upper arm. Sophie frowns.

“Aren’t you  _ my  _ guard?”

“Shut up, the Queen’s the top priority,” Nicola says roughly, staring in the direction of the scream. “I think-”

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence before the first fight breaks out, and black-cloaked figures swarm the street.

“Oh.” She says faintly. “More bandits. Fun.”

Bandits.

More bandits.

Running towards them.

Like, now.

Huh.

_ Oh, shi- _

Nicola’s hand closes around hers and yanks her backwards, Agatha already pelting up the road ahead of them, longer legs and apparently a faster-working brain-

Sophie’s heel catches in a loose flagstone and she staggers, yanking Nicola backwards-

“TAKE THEM OFF!” barks Nicola, hauling her back to her feet.

“DO YOU  _ KNOW  _ HOW EXPENSIVE THESE ARE? ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

“TAKE THEM  _ OFF!”  _ Nicola bellows as shop owners and pedestrians sprint past them, and an arrow streaks past their heads-

_ “NO-“ _

Sophie trails off in a shriek as Nicola grabs her, and hurls her- in  _ the  _ most undignified way- over her shoulder, then takes off running after Agatha.

“PUT ME DOWN!” she screams.

“DO YOU WANT TO DIE?” Nicola screams back, other hand wrenching her rapier from its scabbard. Sophie wonders briefly how on earth she’s got enough arm strength to do both- but thoughts like that do tend to be short-lived when you get a sword swung straight at your head.

Sophie ducks, instinct taking over sense- but Nicola parries, and Sophie catches a brief glimpse of Agatha nearby, holding a respectable sized dagger in one hand and holding the hand of an elderly woman with the other, goggling at them with completely undisguised amazement-

Nicola disarms their attacker and shoves him back into the gutter, and, hanging from her back, Sophie notices someone rush past them-

“Aren’t you meant to be protecting Agatha?” she demands, and Nicola follows her gaze-

She swears, starts towards Agatha at the same time the bandit does-

The startled whinny of a horse echoes from behind them, and Nicola staggers back as several horses careen past them, one mounted by a bandit, who swings his sword towards them-

This time, Nicola does duck. But with Sophie’s weight, she doesn’t balance herself in time, and Sophie can’t help-

Both girls go crashing onto the floor in a sprawling mess of limbs, for the second time in less than a day.

Nicola swears, Sophie yelps, and neither of them get up fast enough before the bandit reaches Agatha-

Or, rather, is bludgeoned in the head with a plank of wood by Agatha.

“And  _ that.”  _ Gasps Nicola, as he crumples to the ground and Agatha hurries the elderly lady up the road with the rest of the fleeing pedestrians, “Is why I carried  _ you.” _

Then she looks back down the road and her face changes.

Sophie follows her gaze.

“Oh  _ no,  _ there’s so many-“

Agatha has reached them.

“What are you  _ doing?  _ Come on! Nicola, get back to the castle and get a squadron of guards, half to get people out, half to fight, then-”

A scream echoes below them, and everyone wheels to see Hort and Anadil staggering up the road towards them, Hort holding an old umbrella like a sword, Anadil with a piece of metal piping, several bandits in hot pursuit of them.

“Did they  _ follow  _ us?” Sophie splutters, indignant- then realises Agatha and Nicola are already running towards them.

“So much for going back to the castle.” She mutters, staggering up to follow them-

A hand closes hard around her arm.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Sophie swallows down a scream.

The bandit from the carriage incident leers down at her, a flintlock clutched in his free hand.

_ Doesn’t he have better things to do? _ She thinks-

“Don’t you have better things to do?” she says.

Oh, no.

The bandit’s eyes, just visible above his mask, narrow in a way which suggests nothing good-

Sophie stamps  _ hard _ on his foot, and feels something crack -though if it’s his toes or the glass of her heel, she doesn’t know- screams for Nicola, and tears out of his grip.

There’s a bang from behind her.

_ He’s shooting at me _ she realises faintly as she staggers down the hill, even though she can see more bandits, more of them, swarming up towards her…

Nicola runs into her, nearly knocking her over, hurls her behind her, and throws her dagger at the man with the flintlock.

He tries to duck, but his foot gives out ( _ Sophie  _ did that), and the dagger hits his temple- it’s only a glancing blow from the hilt, but Nicola has a good arm, and the hilt is bronze. He staggers and falls with a roar of pain.

“Good shot.” Gasps Sophie. Nicola doesn’t respond, because behind them, Hort has gone down after a blow to the shoulder and Anadil is bleeding from a cut on her head. Only Agatha remains largely unscathed- Sophie suspects the others have seen her as a priority-

A forearm slides across Agatha’s throat and yanks her backwards.

Nicola starts forward the second Sophie shrieks, but there’s people in the way, bandits and panicked passers-by, and now there’s two horses thundering towards them, Sophie wonders what it would be like to be trampled by a horse, probably horribly painful-

The lead horse skids to a stop just inches from where Hort lies and rears madly, Sophie cries out-

The bandit holding Agatha falls back with a howl, a dagger protruding from his shoulder, and Agatha collapses to the ground, heaving for breath as the second bandit, hounding Anadil, finds an arrow sprouting from his sternum and crumples-

“Oh.” Sophie says faintly as someone either very brave, or very stupid, makes a swing at the second horse. The rider kicks the attacker so hard in chest that something audibly pops. “They’re on our side.”

The bandit who had grabbed Agatha lurches to his feet and tries to run, staggering drunkenly down the road-

With a terrible thundering of hooves, the lead rider wheels on him and he hurries up, but outrunning a horse, especially after being stabbed, is usually inadvisable.

But now Sophie can see more horses and people on foot sprinting up the road, and the bandits are starting to disperse. She can even see several being chained up- these newcomers have to be from the palace.

But…

“The palace is the other way?” she says to Nicola, who shakes her head.

“Didn’t come from the palace.” She says gruffly, and hurries over to where Anadil is knelt over Hort. Agatha is already up and moving, stood nearby, with the elderly woman she’d helped earlier. Sophie, suddenly remembering that all three of them are hurt, rushes after her-

There’s a thud from behind them, and Sophie spins to see one of the two riders who had saved them striding over - she’s a young woman in a military jacket and light armour, with a grim face and a tattooed neck.

“Do… we know her?” she says faintly to Anadil. Anadil grins, which is unsettling.

“ _ I _ do.”

“They came from the western wood.” Says the woman, as she approaches. “We encountered them on our way back, cut half of them off, and got here fast as we could. Where’s the Queen?”

“Over there.” Nicola points her to where Agatha is stood with a cluster of townspeople.

“She’s okay, then?”

“She’s fine.” Anadil says, quickly. The newcomer glances at her, and there’s a shared intensity in both of their gazes-

“Hello, we’re here too.” Says Hort, from the floor. “Hester- or Nicola- can you put my shoulder back in?”

“No.” says Hester, but kneels down to do it anyway. Sophie winces at the crunch, and at Hort’s choice of vocabulary- but more so when Hester turns her gaze to her.

“Ah.” She says.

It’s not a good exclamation.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Sophie draws breath to ask her what her problem is-

The second rider returns in a shower of dust.

Hort huffs out a poorly concealed sigh as the rider dismounts. This one is fully armoured, unlike Hester, and helmeted so nothing but two brilliant blue eyes are visible.

Sophie shuffles a little, unnerved as she watches as those eyes flicker across them, completely unreadable-

That’s when Agatha comes back.

The change in both of the rider’s attitudes is immediate. Both fall to their knees immediately, Hester a little later than the knight and much more exaggerated, and, Nicola, grumbling under her breath about “extreme lengths to mock him” “who does he think he’s fooling” and “kneecaps” reluctantly follows suit.

(Hort and Anadil stay sitting on the floor.)

Agatha sighs.

“What am I supposed to say, again? Rise, or whatever-” the helmeted knight’s head shoots up at the hoarseness of her voice, and she breaks off; “I’m  _ fine,  _ Te-”

She trails off. Sophie gets the distinct impression Agatha was about to address him informally.

“Uh, yeah. Get up, you two.”

The two girls shuffle to their feet, and stand there in an awkward silence. The armoured knight remains kneeling. Nicola and Hester are staring at the knight, who is staring at Agatha, who is frowning at the floor, mouth moving silently, apparently trying to work out what the hell to say next. There’s a gaggle of townspeople nearby, staring at them. Someone is scribbling on a loose bit of parchment madly.

Damn reporters.

“Oh- uh, right.” Says Agatha, apparently remembering. Then frowns. “Do we have to do this here?”

“ _ Yes _ .” Say Hester and Nicola together, both staring pointedly at the armoured knight.

Agatha sighs, the back of her neck very red, and holds her hand out to the knight.

“Get on with it, then.” She mutters.

Confused, Sophie glances at Nicola as the knight tugs off his helmet.

“It’s proper for the Queen’s personal knight to pay tribute to her after a successful campaign.” She says cheerfully. “He’s got to kiss her signet ring.”

Sophie blinks.

“Knights have to do that for me. Why are you laughing?”

Nicola doesn’t reply, and, bewildered, Sophie glances back to the knight and Agatha as he takes her hand-

And looks again.

“ _ That’s  _ Agatha’s personal knight?” she splutters as he bends to kiss her ring, thick gold curls falling in those clear eyes.

“Yep.” Says Nicola, peering at Agatha.

“And  _ he’s  _ devoted to her?”

“Entirely devoted.”

“Since…?”

“Dunno. Childhood friends.”

“But…”

“I know what you’re about to say-”

“He’s  _ hot.”  _ Sophie says, incredulously.

“Never mind.” Sighs Nicola.

“Why, what did you think I was going to say?” demands Sophie, as the knight lingers just a tad too long and Agatha’s boot clangs off his shin guard. Nicola stares in disbelief at her-

“Who’s this?”

The knight (Agatha's  _ personal _ knight) is peering over at her, politely bewildered by her presence.

Agatha bites her tongue.

“Ah- Sir Pendragon, this is Princess Sophie. Of Gavaldon. My friend.”

The change in his handsome face is instantaneous- his slightly raised eyebrows come right down, and that perfect jaw juts out-

“ _ Emphasis on friend.” _ growls Agatha as he gets up, still looking hard at Sophie, who fidgets uncomfortably.

His expression doesn’t change one bit.

“But-”

_ “Later _ .” Snaps Agatha, sounding hoarse again. “I’ll tell you later.”

Sir Pendragon immediately swivels back to her, and Nicola rolls her eyes, mounting a spare horse as the other riders catch up to them.

“As I’m sure you can tell, Tedros and Agatha get on very well.”

“STOP  _ MOLLYCODDLING!”  _ Agatha thunders from behind them.

Sophie’s not sure if Nicola’s joking or deadly serious.

* * *

 

Tedros doesn’t like  _ Sophie _ , though, that’s for certain.

After another failed attempt at conversation (“I know, her majesty told me.” Was his response to almost everything), Sophie groans and flops against Nicola’s back. She’d probably have resented sharing a horse with her before today, but now, considering she’s carried her over her shoulder and they’ve physically fought one another (“if anyone asks, Nicola, it didn’t happen- princesses don’t  _ brawl _ ”) riding a horse together is… acceptable.

“Such a shame.” She mutters, watching Tedros talking emphatically to Agatha over his shoulder. “He’s so  _ hot _ . What did I ever do to him?” She feels Nicola huff and sits up. “What? He is. Look at that jaw. All hot boys have that jaw.”

Hort rides up beside them, abandoned to ride on his own by Anadil and Hester, despite his shoulder.

“He’s also taken.” He tells her, a touch smugly. Sophie stares at him, aghast.

“He  _ is?  _ Not by…  _ you?” _

Hort recoils so hard he nearly falls off the horse.

_ “Ew, _ no! I  _ hate  _ Tedros, why would you-”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is he lugging around an elaborate, gilded portrait of his lady love--?”

“He might as well be!” grouches Hort.

Bewildered, Sophie peers over at Tedros, still trying to get Agatha’s attention. She certainly can’t  _ see  _ any sort of token or indication of anything.

Nicola and Hort exchange glances, snort, and look away.

Sophie gives up.

* * *

 

The next few weeks are as ordinary as it’s possible for them to be, with both Lady Aurelia and Tedros shooting her dirty looks. Lady Aurelia is understandable. Apparently she’d had to have her bathroom entirely replaced, after the frogs had laid frogspawn in the plumbing and she’d ended up with tadpoles in her bathwater.

A shame. And awfully fast, actually. Maybe it had been helped along, a bit…?

But it was Tedros that bewildered Sophie, and she says as much to Agatha, a week or so later, as they watch Tedros, Hester and Nicola argue about who was meant to be on the door;

“Aggie,  _ why  _ does Tedros hate me?”

“Oh. Um.” Agatha hesitates. “I, uh. May have written to him very shortly after you got here.”

Sophie’s mouth falls open.

“You made out that I was a horrible, stuck up, old hag-”

“Basically, yeah-”

“-and you  _ didn’t _ follow it up with my redemption, once I had it?”

“Your  _ redemption?”  _ snorts Agatha. Sophie ignores her.

Then she frowns.

“…why should  _ he _ care what you I say to you, anyway?”

“Nicola, Hort and Anadil all had similar reactions, didn’t they?” Agatha yawns, but her eyes shift away slightly.

Sophie stares at her.

“You didn’t tell him anything  _ else,  _ did you?”

“Don’t remember.” Agatha admits. “Could have denounced you as something horrible, but I sent it like ten seconds after I wrote it. Probably wasn’t that bad, he’s just good at holding grudges.”

Sophie has the distinct impression she is not being told the truth.

“But why would he hold a-”

Agatha changes the subject.

“How long are you here for, again?”

Sophie stares suspiciously at her.

“I’ve got a few weeks left. What are you not telling me-”

“How would you feel about a costume ball? On your last night?”

Sophie’s jaw drops. The others stop arguing, and turn, incredulous. Anadil, Dot and Hort look over, too.

“Have you got a fever?” says Nicola conversationally.

“You  _ hate  _ dancing.” Says Tedros.

“And posh gowns.” Says Dot.

“And socialising.” Says Hort.

“And balls in  _ general.”  _ Hester says, looking rather disgusted. Agatha shoots a disdainful look in their direction.

“I just thought that  _ Sophie _ would like it-”

“I’d  _ love it!”  _ Sophie squeals. Anadil winces. “Have you got a theme? Colour scheme? We could do costumes! Or a masquerade. Actually, let’s do both! I could be Cleopatra, or Helen of Troy, and you could be… uh…”

She trails off.

“Yeah, that about sums it up, doesn’t it?” Sighs Agatha, but she looks pleased all the same. “So we’ll do it?”

“Oh, _ goody _ .” Says Hester, with absolutely no sincerity. “A ball.”

Sophie scowls at her.

“ _ You  _ don’t have to come.”

“They all do, they’re in my court and I said so.” Agatha yawns.

Hester, Anadil and Hort groan.

Nicola falls in beside Sophie as they leave;

“Tedros looks thoughtful. Could be fatal, all that thinking.” She muses, not particularly quietly.

Tedros overhears and shoots her a dirty look, but he does genuinely look distracted. In front of him, Agatha has a similar expression.

Sighing, Sophie turns to Nicola.

“What are  _ you  _ going to be?”

Nicola shrugs.

“Dunno. Who cares? It’s a masquerade.”

“Hopeless. You’re all hopeless.” She pauses. “…have you been to a ball here, before?”

“Yes.”

“Are they actually  _ good?” _

Nicola pauses.

“...I thought it was fine.”

Sophie squints suspiciously.

“Who plans them?”

Nicola looks uncomfortable.

“The last proper one was when Queen Callis was still alive, actually, and she always made them fun, so it  _ was  _ good. We had one for Agatha’s coronation, but her heart wasn’t in it, really, not after her mother had just died, and she doesn’t really care for all of that anyway- what?”

“You mean the _Queen_ usually plans it?” demands Sophie.

“…yes.”

Sophie is silent for a very long time, staring at the boots still visible under the hem of Agatha’s dress. Nicola sighs.

“You’re going to do it yourself. Aren’t you.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

Sophie looks up, and smiles widely at her.

“Nicola, darling, I think I shall order some tulle. And roses. Oh, and how many chandeliers does the ballroom have-?”

* * *

 

It turns into a full-scale military operation.

Literally.

“ _ Where  _ did you say to put these?” Tedros puffs, as he and Nicola stagger towards her, grappling with a box marked  _ rose petals.  _ “And why do you need so many?”

Sophie scoffs from where she teeters on a podium with a knock-kneed page, who is currently stringing up lines of glittering gems across the walls with trembling hands.

“You can’t possibly think that my entrance would be as boring as all of yours. As if I can simply  _ walk  _ in! I’m Aphrodite! A goddess! Love! Beauty! There’s not a soul in the castle- or the whole  _ kingdom-  _ more deserving of a grand entrance than me!”

Tedros and Nicola look at each other doubtfully. Then at the box.

“So you’re gonna… chuck them everywhere?” Tedros asks.

“Don’t be stupid, darling, I’m making my costume out of them. I wouldn’t throw them about. Aggie’s got allergies.”

“I  _ know.”  _ Says Tedros sourly. Sophie ignores him. Nicola’s mouth twitches.

Sophie takes this as a show of solidarity;

“Nicola, help me down, won’t you?” she asks sweetly. “It won’t do for a Princess to scramble.”

Nicola rolls her eyes, but she immediately drops the box on Tedros’s feet, and, ignoring his swearing, she helps Sophie down from the platform. The page’s terrified squeak at being left alone means she lifts the boy down, too.

“I suppose I ought to have chosen someone who didn’t mind heights.” Sophie admits as he totters away on unsteady legs.

“Next time.” Nicola tells her, not unkindly-

“Yeah, aren’t you working on  _ being nicer?”  _ pipes up Tedros from behind them.

Sophie turns to glower at him.

“ _ Working on,  _ darling. It’s hard. You’re hardly a saint, though, are you? You haven’t been very nice to  _ me.” _

“You haven’t given me any reason to be.” Tedros says coolly. Sophie scowls deeper.

“You  _ know  _ Agatha’s forgiven me! I don’t understand why you’re so invested in this stupid little argument!”

Tedros opens his mouth to respond-

“Yeah, Tedros, why  _ are  _ you so invested?” chirps Nicola from beside her. “Surely if Queen Agatha’s forgiven her, you ought to follow her lead _.  _ As her  _ inferior  _ and her _ servant.  _ Which, as  _ we all know _ , you are…  _ right _ ?”

Tedros’s mouth snaps shut, and his cheeks flood red. He nods stiffly, stoops, hoists up the box, shoots Nicola a black look-

“Agatha forgives her friends  _ way _ too easily. You’re lucky she likes you so much.” He snaps, and stomps off.

“WHY ARE YOU REFERRING TO THE QUEEN INFORMALLY?” Nicola shouts after him.

Sophie blinks, confused, as Tedros barges Hort out the way and dumps the box in Hester’s arms.

“Did I miss something?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, it’s just something he’s touchy about.” dimisses Nicola. “He knows I’d never  _ really  _ tell, but he’s really easy to wind up.”

“Oh.” Says Sophie faintly, not able to shake the distinct feeling that Nicola had just stood up for her. “Okay.”

* * *

 

“What, does he think he should be King, or something?” asks Sophie as they head across the castle to see the seamstress. Nicola waves the idea off.

“No, nothing like that. I wondered too, at first-- they grew up together, and his father was one of Callis’s best knights-- but no.”

“Then what-”

“STOP  _ SLOUCHING,  _ WOMAN _!”  _ booms Madame Kimi’s voice from around the corner.

“Oh, she’s with Agatha.” Sighs Nicola. Sophie blinks at her. Nicola doesn’t elaborate. She’ll see.

They enter the small, circular room and find themselves up to their knees in waves of colourful fabrics, scraps of scarlet and gold ribbon, glittering gems and faux flowers bursting with petals, feathers, wide-brimmed hats, crinoline and tulle-

Nicola glances over at Sophie to see her gawking openly, eyes bright.

“Wow.” She mumbles. Nicola supposes it’s vaguely impressive, in that it’s colourful, but Sophie’s eyes are sparkling, wide and reverent. Nicola doesn’t seen much to gawk about, but at least Sophie’s pleased-

“SHOULDERS BACK!”

Nicola and Sophie both jump as a short, severe, elderly woman bursts from among a forest of mannequins. Her current customer (prisoner) grumbles and shuffles and does as she’s told; teetering on a small, round platform, Agatha is draped in various swatches and jewels whilst Madame Kimi flits around her, flourishing tape measures and pins and sewing needles.

“- HOW CAN I MEASURE YOU PROPERLY FOR A GOWN IF YOU  _ SLOUCH?”  _ she demands, smacking Agatha with a tape measure. “YOU’RE DIFFICULT ENOUGH AS IT IS!”

“Sorry, Madame Kimi.” Sighs Agatha, apparently resigned to her fate.

“You should be.” Says Madame Kimi primly. “Never come for gowns, do you? Leaving me to deal with Aurelia every other day without a break!”

“You know I’m not that interested in-”

“Bollocks, you just like stuff that no one else likes.”

Sophie looks rather surprised. Nicola is not. Kimi is the only staff member with the gall to talk to Agatha like that, even though everyone else could probably get away with it anyway.

“Beatrice, Beatrice, Beatrice…” muses Madame Kimi, rummaging through a box of silks. “Gold?”

“…no.”

“Plum, then. Slashed sleeves for the gold to peek through. I’ll put Tall, Blonde and Handsome over there in the same-”

Nicola notices that Tedros is lurking over by the mannequins. Unsurprising. When he’s here, he follows Agatha around like a lost puppy. Sophie, examining some sketches, doesn’t seem to notice him, or the comment.

“ _ That’s  _ bold.” Nicola notes, eyeing Tedros and Agatha. Tedros scowls at her. Agatha ignores her, but Nicola can see the familiar rash starting to crawl up her neck. Clearly she's not so sure about it, either.

“Who’s Beatrice?” Sophie asks, finally resurfacing from a fabric-induced daydream. She looks happier than Nicola’s ever seen her.

“As in Beatrice and Benedick?” asks Nicola.

“Yes.” Agatha says. Nicola narrows her eyes at her. Agatha becomes interested in the floor.

“Hello. Still lost.” Chirps Sophie.

“It’s Shakespeare.” Says Tedros. “And-”

“You haven’t read it, either.” Nicola interrupts, before he tries to make himself look too good. Sophie sighs.

“Should have guessed. Who’re you going as, Nic?”

Nicola shrugs.

“Dunno. Haven’t thought about it.”

Sophie looks disgruntled.

“Even  _ Agatha’s  _ thought about it.”

“Actually, Tedros suggested it.” Agatha says- then, as Kimi rifles furiously through shoe samples; “I’ll break my ankles.”

“Maybe then I can fit you for a couple more gowns. You can’t run away.” muses the seamstress.

“Thought it was too good to be true.” Mourns Sophie.

* * *

 

They wander back to Agatha’s rooms several hours later. Nicola had no idea one person could spend so long choosing the colour of a shoe, but apparently Sophie had both the capacity and the willingness. Sophie trots ahead cheerfully, arms piled high with fabric samples and shoes and beads and jewels and god knows what else, and Nicola slouches after her, exhausted. Agatha follows Sophie too, muttering to Tedros-

Lady Aurelia swings around the corner, holding a thick sheaf of paper.

Tedros says something very rude, slightly too loudly. Luckily, Aurelia doesn’t seem to notice.

Unfortunately, she  _ does  _ notice Sophie.

“Ah- Princess, there you are! I’ve been looking for you. Everyone on the guest list has RSVP’d.”

Nicola takes it, considering Sophie’s hands are full with various fabrics.

“Everyone?” Sophie confirms.

“Everyone.” Smiles Aurelia, but it’s small and smug and entirely self-satisfied. “Even the guest of honour.”

Sophie frowns.

“Who’s the guest of honour?”

Suddenly suspicious, Nicola’s eyes swing down to the list-

Circled at the top is a very familiar name.

_ King Stefan of Gavaldon, and family. _

Aurelia doesn’t reply. Sophie spins to Nicola.

“Nicola, who is it-“

“The princess did not invite her father.” Nicola says stiffly.

Sophie drops all her fabric on the floor.

Agatha’s eyes narrow.

Aurelia’s eyes widen.

“No? Oh, I didn’t realise. We simply put his majesty on by default. My apologies.”

She doesn’t sound particularly sorry at all.

She turns to Sophie, that smug little smile returning.

“I’m sure you’ll be happy to receive him, all the same-”

“I won’t be.” Sophie snaps. Nicola is taken aback by the venom seething in her tone. Aurelia’s self-satisfaction seems to waver a little. “I don’t  _ want  _ him!”

“Well-”

“This was supposed to be  _ my  _ night! Hisses Sophie, voice pitchy and unstable. “He was never supposed to come along and  _ ruin _ it like he always does!”

Aurelia merely smiles thinly.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. However, I don’t think there’s any messenger fast enough to change it now… I suppose you’ll just have to deal with it.”

She turns and swoops away, looking nothing short of triumphant.

Sophie stares after her, chest hitching unevenly. A couple of the shoe samples are clutched, white knuckled, in her fist.

Tedros glances uncertainly between the three of them, looking just as unsettled as Nicola is feeling-

Then, with a furious shriek, Sophie hurls one of the shoes in the direction that Aurelia disappeared in, a surprising amount of force behind it-

_ Crash. _

Everyone winces as it smashes through an expensive looking vase and lands, rather forlornly, among the shards.

Sophie stares at it for a second.

“Oh, Aggie.” She says, finally. “I’m sorry.”

Then she bursts into furious, hysterical tears, crumpling into the mess of fabric around her.

Tedros looks almost comically startled. Nicola would probably laugh if the rest of the situation wasn’t so dire.

Agatha flops down next to Sophie in the fabric, legs akimbo and crown skewing madly on her head, propping her chin on her shoulder.

“It’s okay. I hated that vase anyway.”

They all know that’s not really what she’s crying about, but it’s one thing at a time, Nicola supposes.

“Trust you to hate a G-Gepetto’s vase.” Coughs Sophie.

Agatha stares blankly at her.

“…is that a nice brand?”

Sophie splutters out a laugh, but then notices the list still clutched in Nicola’s fist, and her face crumples again.

“I’ll fix it, Sophie.” Agatha says emphatically. “I’ll send a messenger, one of Tedros’s squires. Or I’ll turn them away. Or-”

“You can’t.” murmurs Nicola.

“Don’t, Nicola.” Snaps Agatha. “There’s got to be some way-”

“There’s not.” Says Nicola, more insistently this time. “I’m sorry, Sophie, but I think you know that, too.”

Sophie nods slowly, staring at the floor.

“But-”

Nicola cuts Agatha off.

“Agatha, you’re a good politician, but when it comes to social stuff like this, you’re dreadful. You  _ know  _ that you can’t just snub a powerful ally because he’s a bit of a shit to his daughter.”

Agatha clenches her jaw.

“She’s right, Aggie.” Sophie sniffs. “I’d rather you didn’t ruin a long standing alliance just because I threw a fit. I’m just being ridiculous. Here-” Sophie wobbles to her feet and starts retrieving the dropped samples. “I’ll just go and finish getting ready.”

Agatha stares at her, unsettled by yet another mood swing;

“It’s a masquerade, for goodness’s sake. If I don’t go near him he might not even recognise me.”

Agatha draws breath to point out that if she’s announced, he’ll know anyway-

Nicola steps on her hand, not exactly gently, and Agatha gets the hint.

“Okay…” she says uncertainly, accepting Tedros’s hand up. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Sophie says, not sounding sure in the slightest. “I’m sure.”

* * *

 

She avoids them for the rest of the day.

But Nicola is a guard. She guards. She is very good at guarding. And, as a guard, she does not let people give her the slip for very long.

“Don't you have places to be?” Sophie demands as she opens the door and finds her stood outside.

“Sure.” Says Nicola. “Here. I'm your guard.”

“Only when it's convenient for you.” Mutters Sophie. Nicola pretends not to hear her, expecting an exasperated look and for Sophie to retreat-

But she doesn't. She stands and looks at her. 

“I bought you a book.” She says, finally.

Nicola looks back at her.

“...what?”

“You asked me to buy you a book. I did.”

She turns and rifles around in some bags near the door. Nicola stares at her, stunned. She'd really done it--

“Here!” Sophie spins and presses a large, elegantly bound book into her hands. “Surely you haven't already got it, the clerk in the store says you'd always wanted it but never bought it, though I must admit I can't see what's so good about Greek warriors running around and dying-- what's the matter?”

Nicola gawks openly at her.

“...Is it wrong?” Sophie asks, an uncharacteristic uncertainty creeping into her voice. “I can take it back. I thought that it would be a nice thing to--”

“Shut up, for a second.” Says Nicola faintly. Sophie clamps her mouth shut. 

“You bought me this book.” Nicola says.

“...yes.”

“With your money.”

“Yes.”

“Did you send someone to get it?”

“No, I went myself, a couple of days ago, when you were with Agatha. I took Hort. Why are you being so  _ weird-- _ ”

Nicola cuts her off, because she needs to say it.

“Thank you.”

The green eyes widen slightly, incredulous for a split second.

“...oh.” says Sophie. “...really?”

If she hadn't been so shocked, it would have been Nicola's turn for an incredulous look.

“...yes. I--” she teeters on the edge of saying it. How she'd coveted the damn book for months, how she'd refused herself something so silly, when all it is is a fancy copy of something she's already read a thousand times, but doesn't. “Yes. Thank you.”

Sophie still looks unsure. Nicola doesn't blame her; she knows how clipped she can come across. Usually, it's on purpose.

Usually.

“Well.” Sophie says. “You know. I'm working on being nicer.”

There's something- a slightly bitter edge to her bright tone, a sharp thing that catches Nicola's attention. She doesn't think it's to do with Sophie's resolution to Agatha.

More to do with  _ why _ she had to make it.

Nicola tears her attention away from the gorgeous book in her hands, looks up at the Princess who could have stepped out of it.

“You didn't  _ really _ get sent here over goats.”

She doesn't pose it as a question, because it's not one.

Sophie's cat eyes flicker, darting away from and back to Nicola’s face in that slyish little shift that Nicola's come to recognise as the moment when she weighs up her options.

“No.” She says, evenly enough. “But that was a lovely little factor that…Father didn't appreciate.”

The hesitation before  _ father _ . Nicola doesn't miss much. She can't afford to.

“And that was Stefan's decision?”

“...I suppose not.” Sophie tries to look nonchalant, rebraiding her hair. “The Court Elders aren't too fond of me. But it was his idea. They just made it seem like a good one.”

“What was?”

“Sending me away so that the brand-new, studious, nonfrivolous, Queen Agatha without a suitor in sight could rub off on me.” Says Sophie tersely. “Their words.” She adds quickly. “They've always preferred people like Agatha.”

Things are starting to make sense to Nicola, now.

“And you wanted to resist that, so…”

“I caused multiple huge scenes, coerced the Queen into hosting the first ball of her reign-- which is going to be incredible, by the way-- took her shopping, and am about to make a  _ very _ frivolous entrance to the ball tomorrow? Yes.”

She plants her hands on her hips and stares expectantly at Nicola. 

Nicola looks back at her.

Nicola looks at her, really looks at her. This vainglorious, sly, murderously loyal wonder of a princess, stood in her corset and crinoline and stockings, with half braided hair and a defiance flashing in the green of her eyes that could sink ships and destroy continents.

She nods slowly, staring back into those eyes, and wondering why she'd ever hated her.

“Good plan.”

Sophie's jaw relaxes visibly.

“Well, I'm glad  _ someone _ agrees.” She sighs, turning to head back inside. “I think this might be the first time you've agreed with anything I've ever said, by the way.”

“Yeah.” Nicola leans against the wall and flicks open her new book. “I think it is.”

Sophie frowns at her.

“How are you supposed to defend me like that?”

Nicola ignores her, just to wind her up. Sophie huffs.

“You better sort out your ball costume, you know. I know you haven't got one.”

“And  _ I  _ know your's is half finished. Might want to get on that.”

It's then that Nicola realises on the page she's got open, sees the illustration, realises which myth it is.

“And I wouldn't worry, O fair Aphrodite.” She says, staring at the page as Sophie disappears, humming, back into her rooms. “I know what I'm doing.”

* * *

  
The night patrols are her favourite.

Nicola paces the halls in silence, long after midnight, treading slow circles around the outsides of the royal apartments, the only sounds the clink of her sword belt and the jingle of her spurs. It's long after midnight, and it's peaceful. No courtiers to argue with, no Hester and Hort fighting in the background. Just her, and the moon, and the quiet vigilance she's best at...

And, apparently, Tedros.

She rounds the corner and sees him stood there, a silent statue at the door to Agatha's sitting room. She doesn't question his presence, though- a guard always has to be on duty whilst the Queen is still in her outer chambers, which means Agatha is still up. (It doesn't have to be one of the most senior Knights in the kingdom, though. But only the idiotic courtiers and possibly Sophie would question why it's always Tedros.) He's already looking at her; probably heard her coming. Nicola raises one eyebrow.

“Does being constantly paranoid someone is going to stick a knife in Agatha at 1am not give you gas?”

The Captain of the Guard and the Queen's Personal Knight should probably get on, but Nicola thinks Tedros is too emotionally invested in everything, which makes him high-handed, and he thinks Nicola is stuck up, and they both think the other is doing their job wrong. They also don't have problem with telling each other that. They're often compared to the worst sort of warring siblings by other courtiers, (a comparison which they highly resent, which probably means it's true.)

“No.” Says Tedros. Nicola hums.

“Impressive gastrointestinal system. Acne?”

“What do you want?” Tedros huffs.

“Agatha’s still awake, then?”

“Obviously.” says Tedros.

Nicola sucks her teeth.

“Oh, true. I suppose if she'd gone to bed she'd have taken you with her, paramour that you are.”

That particular non-secret is a red flag to that particular bull.

Tedros goes a scarlet that's visible even in the dark hall.

“Shut up, Nicola.”

“Is that the best you've got?”

Tedros just scowls, and leans against the door.

Nicola decides to stop baiting him. He's clearly not in the mood.

“Is she stressing about the ball?”

Tedros nods. Nicola frowns.

“Why? Sophie's doing it all.”

“Sophie is part of it.” Tedros says, face souring. “Agatha's worried about Stefan being there, apparently he's bringing his old codgers from court. She's also worried about the costume, receiving people,  _ looking like the laughing-stock I’m treated _ \-- her words, not very reliable, she looks good--”

“Of course you already know.” Nicola mutters. Tedros barrels on.

“-- and--”

The door is yanked open and Agatha appears over Tedros's shoulder.

“Do you blab to Nicola like this all the time?”

“No.” Mutters Tedros, immediately chastened.

“Good, 'cause I can tell her myself, if I want. I'm going to bed, you're off duty.”

“Oh, okay--”

Tedros makes some sort of vague motion towards the door, seems to realise Nicola is still there, and resorts to just sort of… standing there.

Nicola looks at Agatha. Agatha looks at Nicola. 

“As you were, Captain.” Agatha tells her cheerfully. She grabs Tedros by the collar, yanks him inside, and slams the door behind them.

Snickering loud enough to make sure Tedros can hear, Nicola continues on her way, anticipating a slightly less entertaining continuation of her patrol.

* * *

  
She's wrong, unusually.

Most of the rooms are deserted, dark and silent and spotless, awaiting guests for the ball the next day. But one is occupied.

And the light is still on, the door ajar.

It appears Agatha isn't the only one worrying about the ball.

* * *

Sophie wakes up to Nicola stood over her, and a very much unfinished dress.

The clock reads ten past 1.

Sophie bolts up, sending fabric, scissors and needles flying, slips, and would have headbutted the floor had Nicola not caught her.

“Maybe go to bed?” Offers Nicola from above her.

“It’s past  _ midnight _ !” shrieks Sophie at the carpet. “I'm not finished!”

“Yes, it is, so be  _ quiet _ !”

“I'm nowhere near!” Sophie wails as Nicola hauls her up and props her up against the table. “I'll never be done! And if I don't go to sleep tonight I'll have  _ wrinkles _ and  _ eye-bags  _ and I'll be  _ ugly  _ because nobody beautiful ever stayed up past 11pm--”

She catches Nicola staring at her and waves her off, in a fog of exhaustion and despair and misery. 

“No one who had to put  _ effort _ into looking beautiful, anyway. You just walk around looking like that.”

“ _ What _ ?” splutters Nicola.

Sophie peers hazily at her, wondering what's made her look like that.

“What?”

“Um. Nothing.” Nicola looks away hastily, down at the dress. “...looks pretty done to me.” 

“It's not.” Sophie huffs. “I need to tighten the bodice, add another layer of petticoats, sew all of the pearls onto the neckline, and choose all my jewellery! Thank you for waking me up, darling, but I need to do this  _ now-- _ ”

She totters unsteadily towards the table, reaches for the needle--

Nicola grabs her wrists and drags her away.

“No. Nope. I'm not having you accidentally severing a major artery with fabric scissors you're too tired to use.”

“Oh, get off, I'm fine--”

Sophie yanks her arms out of her grip and lunges for the table, but she stumbles, trips over the table-leg--

Nicola catches her. 

Again. 

But this time her hands are on Sophie's waist and their faces are inches apart and-- and--

Sophie clutches the collar of Nicola's uniform, Nicola grips her waist, and neither of them move for a solid thirty seconds. 

“How long have you been up, working on this?” asks Nicola.

Sophie doesn't respond. Nicola smells flowery, like tulips or something. Which is surprising, for a guard. Sophie likes tulips, though. Although she'd usually have considered them rather basic in terms of aesthetic or a romantic offering, but in terms of tradition, she supposes they're always a safe bet--

“Go to bed.” Says Nicola. She hasn't let go of her, though.

“Yes.” Sophie says, dazed. “I should.” 

“It’ll seem easier in the morning.” murmurs Nicola.

Sophie thinks of her father, and the Elders, and swallows.

“Will it?”

“I promise.” 

This time, Nicola does let go of her, but she doesn't stand back. They remain stood face-to-face. Sophie finds herself examining Nicola's eyes. They're brown, like Agatha's, but darker, nearly black, pools of mahogany. She's never seen anything like them.

“I'll be on patrol most of the night.” Nicola says. “If you need anything.”

“Right.” Mumbles Sophie, barely listening.

“Go to bed.”

“Yes. I will.”

Sophie forces herself to move, to tear her eyes away, and she does as she's told, even if she's not sure why.

* * *

Nicola watches her go.

Then she turns to the dress, cracks her knuckles, and sits down in Sophie's chair.

She hopes she's not going to ruin the damn thing.

* * *

 

Agatha kicks Tedros awake the next morning.

“You're so romantic.” Tedros grunts into the pillow. “I spent like three hours last night trying to reassure you and you're just going to kick me?”

“And you spent another three hours sweating like a pig and fidgeting. Either put a shirt on or hide, I can hear Sophie coming.” 

Tedros sits up, and sure enough, he can hear the distinctive clatter of heels, advancing rapidly down the hall.

He groans.

“The hell does she want so early? I've never seen her before 10.”

“I don't know, but you better pretend you were  _ definitely _ just here platonically.” 

“Oh, shit, right-” 

Tedros retrieves his shirt from where he'd chucked it at Reaper the night before (he'd missed, the cat had bitten him twice for the attempt) and shoves his feet haphazardly into his boots. Agatha follows him out into the sitting room, shoving on one of her endearing (but, frankly, offensive) lumpy cardigans. Tedros flings himself down on one of the sofas and picks up his sword belt, just as Sophie reaches the door and knocks. Very aggressively.

“I wonder who's pissed her off now?” Tedros mumbles. “Poor sod.”

Agatha shoots him A Look and pulls the door open.

“AGATHA.” thunders Sophie.

“Morning.” says Agatha weakly. “Something wrong?”

“LOOK.” 

Something pink and voluminous is thrust under Agatha's nose.

“Oh, you finished it!”

“NO. I DIDN'T.”

“... It  _ looks  _ finished _.” _

_ “THAT'S BECAUSE IT IS!”  _ Shrieks Sophie.

Agatha blinks at her.

“...no, you've lost me.”

Tedros decides Sophie is not going to question his presence, so he wanders over to see what's going on.

Sophie is stood in the doorway, looking slightly deranged, and clutching what appears to be her ballgown. She must have rushed directly here; Tedros thinks she might not have even taken the time to do her hair, which is genuinely shocking.

Agatha opens her mouth to say something else, but instead, Sophie starts babbling.

“I was trying to finish it last night but then I fell asleep and Nicola woke me up but then wouldn't let me finish it --which, honestly,  _ proves _ she doesn't understand fashion, and I was definitely capable of finishing it, but I digress-- and then she convinced me to go to bed, so I do, and I wake up and it's  _ finished _ ! Pearls stitched on, petticoats added, bodice tightened-- all I've got to do is pick my jewellery!”

She beams at Tedros and Agatha.

Tedros looks at Agatha, expecting the explanation he always gets when he's completely and utterly lost.

He doesn't get one. Agatha's face reflects his internal  _?????????  _ in a perfect mirror.

Tedros hopes he's not rubbing off on her. They can't  _ both  _ be confused all the time.

“Why do you look like you're getting married, or something?” peeps Tedros.

“No  _ man _ could ever make me feel this happy!” scoffs Sophie.

“...what?” Says Agatha.

“Look at the stitching!” Sophie shoves it under their noses again.

“It's very...stitchy.” says Agatha.

“I had no idea she was so good! It must have taken such a long time, I can't believe it--”

“Sorry, who are we talking about?” Interrupts Tedros.

“NICOLA!” bellows Sophie.

Agatha's eyes widen. 

“ _ Nicola _ finished your gown?”

Sophie frowns.

“Well. I assume so. Unless she called someone in to do it. Good idea, I didn't think of that, even more reason I need to find her...” She perks right back up. “So, where is she? Is she with you?”

“...no.” Agatha says slowly. It appears things are starting to fall into place for her, which is good, because Tedros still doesn't understand. “Today's her day off. She tends to go into town to visit her father. She'll be back for the ball, don't worry.”

“Oh.” It seems to Tedros that Sophie looks a little disappointed. “All day?”

“Yeah.”

Sophie frowns a bit.

“Well, I suppose it will have to wait until tonight.”

“Haven't you got enough to sort out, anyway?” Interrupts Tedros.

Agatha stands on his foot, not that he really notices, given she has no shoes on. But Sophie seems to actually agree with him for once.

“Yes, that's true. I left Anadil in charge, which could go  _ horribly _ wrong, especially if she lets Hester convince her to do things like she always does- yes, I'll go right down.” 

“Do you need help?” Asks Agatha, somewhat reluctantly.

“Oh, no, darling--” Sophie gathers up her ball dress, peering at Agatha distractedly. “You just focus on receiving people and getting ready, you can help her, can't you, Teddy? You're always around, and dress laces don't do themselves.”

She turns and skips off.

Tedros and Agatha peer after her.

“You know,” Says Tedros. “If I wasn't sure she was completely oblivious, I would have sworn she knew about us.”

“I think she's got her own romantic problems.” Agatha murmurs.

Tedros turns to stare at her. 

“...what?”

Agatha glances out of the window at the line of carriages starting to snake through the gate.

“Good thing I've got a long time to explain it all to you, huh?”

* * *

 

“What’s up, loser?” beams the beautiful, beloved Princess Regent Beatrix of Jaunt Jolie, stomping up to the dais twenty minutes late with an iced coffee in one hand and her fiancé’s hand in the other.

Agatha snorts, thinking how the courtier's reports of her were definitely off the mark. Her public persona was impressive, to say the least.

“I don't know who you're talking to.”

Beatrix waves her off.

“It was Teddy, I love you too much to be mean to you.” 

“... You  _ dated  _ Tedros.”

“Only to make Reena jealous.” Beatrix grins. Reena exchanges a semi-amused, semi-long suffering look with Agatha. “Where's Sophie?”

“Micromanaging.” says Agatha.

“Don't know why I bothered asking. Of course she is. Haven't seen her for years though, might go find her, say sorry for fighting her over a dance with Prince Kian at that ball a couple years ago. He wasn't even that hot.”

“You're just saying that because you didn't get to dance with him.” Tedros tells her, a touch smugly.

“And you did.” Sighs Beatrix. “Yes, I know. You didn't shut up about it for months.”

Tedros looks rather mournful.

“He was such a gentleman. Shame about the steroid-pumped geese in the basement.”

“And his tax fraud.”

“And that.” Tedros agrees.

Agatha and Reena exchange a bewildered glance, and both decide it's not worth it.

“Who's left to come in?” Agatha asks.

Reena frowns.

“The Princess of Altazarra, the Ooty Queen, the King of Bloodbrook, some old dude I don't know, pointy hat, think he's one of your advisors--”

Agatha makes a mental note to find Merlin and have a go at him for not announcing his arrival, later.

“--Evanora, you know, Anadil's grandmother? The Sheriff of Nottingham, and… oh. King Stefan, his family, and a bunch of his advisors.”

Agatha groans.

“They're already here?”

“Yeah. Did Sophie want them here? I didn't think she got on with him.”

“She doesn't.” Agatha sighs. “I'll catch you up later.”

* * *

 

“Tighter.” snaps Sophie.

She sees Tedros make an incredulous face in Agatha's mirror.

“You're strong enough, I hope!” Sophie barks. “ _ Tighter _ !”

Frowning, Tedros does as he's told.

“Surely that's got to hurt.” says Agatha weakly.

“No.” Sophie says, peevishly. “Besides, if it's not tighter, the skirt won't look half as good.”

“Pretty sure it already looks fine.” Mumbles Tedros. 

“Pretty sure you're employed to shut up and follow orders, not give your opinion!” barks Sophie. “One tighter!”

Tedros goes scarlet and does it. Agatha shoots Sophie a reproachful look, which is ignored. She knows she's supposed to be being nicer, but she's wound up to her breaking point. She's seen her father passing by, and he brought the Elders, because of course he did, she's seen servants having no idea what their role was, she's seen the courtiers muttering and scheming, she's seen chaos, confusion, and worst of all, she hasn't seen Nicola at  _ all _ . 

“Is Nicola back yet?” She demands. 

Agatha shrugs.

Sophie peers at Tedros.

“Thought you didn't want my input.” Grunts Tedros, finishing the laces on the back of her bodice.

“Oh, don't be a boob, Teddy, I didn't mean it.” Says Sophie, somewhat impatiently.

Tedros silently finishes the laces on the back of her dress, and steps back.

“Yeah, I saw her come back.” He said.

Sophie wheels to him.

“ _ Really _ ? Where?”

“She told me not to tell, and I'm supposed to follow orders.” Says Tedros crisply, heading for the door. “See you at the ball.” 

Sophie stares after him, mouth moving silently.

Then she spins to Agatha.

“You're rubbing off on him-- stop laughing!”

* * *

 

“Move!”

“ _ You  _ move, we're not all as tall as you!”

“We shouldn't have worn the hats, I can't see shit, with the mask as well...”

“But we had to wear the hats, or it wouldn't have been obvious we're cowboys.”

“But there's no such  _ thing  _ as masquerade ball cowboys!” 

“Actually, genius, there is  _ now-- _ ”

Beatrix pushes past the gaggle of bickering girls, peering through her own mask at the scene around her. She has to admit it, Sophie has done a phenomenal job. Tiny lights and strings of jewels sweep across the walls, three huge chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, sending tiny lights and sparkles skittering across the heads of the crowd. The candlelight from the chandeliers and candelabras is almost the only light source in the room, save the moon through the high windows and French doors of the ballroom, and suddenly everyone present is reduced to shadowy figures, glinting with jewels and swathed in silks, feathers and furs. No wonder no one can be identified at masquerade balls- the costumes are about the only distinguishable thing. Beatrix can see angels, monsters, swans, unicorns (Was that Lady Aurelia? Ugh.) and more, all milling about together--

And there she is, the woman of the hour. There's no mistaking the quality of the gown, nor the green eyes glinting through the mask. Resplendent in a gown of rose petals and silk (with matching mask, gloves and fan) Sophie is surrounded by a fawning crowd of guests, and Beatrix isn't exactly struggling to see why; she's magnificent, perfumed, polished and primped to top even her own astronomically high standards. There's pearls and rose petals everywhere; on the bodice, the waist, the sleeves, around her neck, bedecking her mask and entwined in her hair.

(Beatrix still thinks her Sappho is  _ better _ , but Sophie does look good.)

But she also looks tense.

Suspicious, Beatrix's eyes dart left, right--

Ah. Of course. The broad shouldered man in the fox mask couldn't be anyone else.

And he was heading over to her. But he wouldn't get there, if Beatrix could help it. 

She catches a flash of plum and gold through the crowd and starts towards it. Surely Stefan would appreciate meeting the woman who's hosted his daughter for three months.

* * *

 

Sophie is not enjoying this as much as she thought she would, and it's driving her mad. She's trapped in a circle of fawning idiots, Lady Aurelia is on her third glass of wine and squinting suspiciously at every woman with dark hair, Agatha _has_ _disappeared to dance with a boy_ (Sophie nearly had a stroke) and she _still_ hasn't found Nicola. And, worst of all, she can see her father, still with those blasted Elders, searching for her. They'll find her soon, no doubt. She's not exactly subtle.

So, obviously, she's a little testy.

“Who even  _ is  _ he?” She snaps, glaring across the dance floor. “Why do they  _ match _ ?”

“Couldn't say, princess.” Admits one of the boys, but he's not even following her gaze, he's staring at her, instead. “Maybe she hired him.”

“Shut up and get me a drink.” Sophie tells him, irritated by the assumption. He leaves so fast she's surprised he doesn't get whiplash.

“Don't you want to dance, your highness?” Offers one of the other boys, faceless in a boar mask. 

Sophie doesn't even dignify him with a response, eyes heading back to the dancefloor--

She's caught halfway by a very familiar face.

Stefan notices her, too.

The suitors don't notice anything, continuing to prattle:

“I won the Inter-Kingdom Ballroom Championships three times in a row, Princess, I could easily dance well--”

“Shut up, Carlson, only three people entered.  _ I've _ escorted many ladies before, princess, it's only fitting that--”

“You've never even  _ met _ anyone as high-ranking as her.  _ I  _ courted Lady Aurelia last spring.”

Even in her distracted state, Sophie gags at that. 

“Aurelia could never touch me.” She sniffs. But emboldened by her attention, the boys hound closer, chattering louder about their families and their achievements. Over their shoulders, Sophie can see Stefan and the Elders approaching. Honora isn't visible anywhere, though. Sophie finds herself slightly disappointed. Her stepmother might have served to make the Elders less forceful. She takes a step to the left, hoping maybe the boys will take the hint-- 

The chattering leaps up in volume, instead.

“Princess, do you require me to accompany you?”

“Princess, where are you going?”

“I insist on at least one dance, Princess--”

And all the while, Stefan and the Elders are getting closer. Agatha isn't here, damn her. Neither is Nicola. Sophie can't face them alone, and even Hort or Tedros would be better than these cretins, who  _ won't let her leave-- _

The boy she'd sent for a drink returns, huffing, and there's a scuffle over who gets to hand it to her, the boys at the back turn to see Stefan and begin to part, damn them, damn them--

“Princess?”

Another voice, higher. A girl's.

Sophie whirls.

She's stood amongst the rest of the suitors, in gold-edged breeches and doublet, stitched with tiny flowers that Sophie can't make out.

“Who are you?” Sophie splutters. She's almost completely in shadow. 

“One of the Queen's staff. May I have this dance?”

Sophie stares at her, incredulous, opens her mouth to say no--

The boys part behind her, and there's only one person they could be admitting 

To hell with it. One of Agatha's staff couldn't be  _ that  _ bad.

Sophie grabs her hand and practically hurls herself onto the dance floor, leaving a cluster of disappointed boys, Stefan, and the Elders behind.

* * *

 

As it turns out, the woman is a good dancer. Not that Sophie's really paying attention; she's too busy noticing Agatha, now off the dance floor and stood with Stefan and the Elders. She looks uncomfortable, and Sophie watches her wipe her hands on that lovely skirt at least twice (Agatha never did appreciate quality clothing) and worries about what they're saying to her. And  _ where  _ was Honora? She'd never been  _ that _ passive, Sophie can't understand why she's not with the rest of them, and it's worrying her--

“Princess?”

“Hmm?” Sophie replies distractedly, studying the crowd.

“I was complimenting your gown.”

“Oh!” Sophie looks down at it. “Yes, I did a good job, didn't I?”

“You must have worked very hard.” Murmurs the other. “Are you Aphrodite? I recognise the pearls and roses.”

“Yes!” Sophie says, pleased she can tell. “I'm not really sure who anyone else is, though. Who are you?”

She peers at the flowers. Are they pansies? Something is bothering her, again. She's sure something is wrong.

The guard glances out at the crowd, and doesn't answer her question.

“I believe Princess Beatrix is Sappho, Lady Aurelia is a unicorn, and Countess Anadil is Hecate. Queen Agatha is Beatrice. And her partner is Benedict.”

Sophie tilts her head.

“Who  _ is  _ her partner? Is he a guard? I do like guards. Especially good-looking ones. Good-looking ones close to the Queen.” 

The woman's hands tighten almost imperceptibly on Sophie's waist. Sophie frowns.

“What?”

“...nothing.”

They dance in silence for a moment. There's a heavy sort of tension between them, almost like an anticipation. Or maybe that's just her.

Sophie's eyes drift to the crowd, again. Stefan is smiling at Agatha, she thinks. She's not really surprised. Agatha is the sort of person Stefan likes.  _ Not people like me, _ she thinks bitterly. He'd probably have preferred a daughter like Agatha.

Her partner clears her throat quietly. Sophie turns back to her questioningly.

“You... asked me who I'm dressed as.” she says.

“Oh, yes!” 

“... Adonis. I came as Adonis.”

“Oh!” Sophie pauses. “Erm, who's that?”

The woman hesitates. Sophie peers up through her mask. Her eyes are the same colour as Agatha's.

And Nicola's.

Suddenly, Sophie isn't thinking of the ball, or of Stefan, or even Agatha, but of Nicola. She bet Nicola was a good dancer. Where was she? Sophie hadn’t scared her off, had she? Oh, no, she hoped not, not now, not when Sophie had just started to-- 

“One of Aphrodite’s lovers.”

Sophie stops dead, the girl stumbles to a stop, too.

She hadn’t recognised the pearls.

She’d already known what Sophie was going as.

“Oh.” murmurs Sophie. “I-- Oh.”

The girl swallows. 

“I--I appreciate that it’s probably too bold, but--”

Sophie gazes into her eyes, so similar to someone else's, and swallows, too.

_ I’m working on being nicer. _

“I’m sorry.” she mumbles. “But there’s someone else.”

“Yes.” the other girl says, faintly. “Yes.”

“It’s not--”

“A guard. A good-looking guard, close to the Queen.” 

“Yes.” whispers Sophie.

The girl drops her head.

Sophie catches the faint smell of tulips. 

“Well, then.” she says softly. “It was an honour to dance with you, Princess.”

She lets go of Sophie’s waist, steps back. 

“Anemones.” Sophie murmurs, staring at her jacket. “They’re anemones.”

“They bloomed when Adonis died.” says the girl.

She turns and disappears into the crowd. But as she does, a shaft of candlelight catches her eyes, those deep mahogany eyes, there’s another waft of tulips, and.. and Sophie--

Sophie balks.

Tulips. Tulips and brown eyes and someone who knew what her costume was.

_ “And I wouldn't worry, O fair Aphrodite. I know what I'm doing.” _

She’d been looking at her book. 

Her book of Greek myths.

No.

_ No.  _

Sophie whirls, horrified--

But Nicola is already gone.

* * *

 

“Hey Sophie, what’s-“

“Where’s Agatha?” Sophie booms, completely cutting Hort off.

Hester snorts.

“I think she, uh,  _ retired  _ for the night. Might be in her rooms. Maybe. I don’t think you sh-- are you  _ crying? _ ”

“Her rooms, got it, bye-”

“Wait, she’s probably wi-”

Sophie is already off, no longer listening.

She’s up there in record time, hammering on the door desperately.

“AGATHA! LET ME IN, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU-”

There’s a muffled yelp, oddly close to the door, followed by hasty footsteps, and something crashes inside-

“Just a second!” Agatha calls, and, in a furious whisper still loud enough for Sophie to hear;  _ “No- shut up!” _

A door slams, and Sophie hears Agatha approach again-

The sitting room door is yanked open and Agatha blinks down at her, looking oddly rumpled for someone who’s only just left a formal party.

Sophie is now less upset and more, much more, curious.

“What’s wrong?” Agatha demands, ushering her inside and hauling up the neckline of her dress a bit higher. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, forget that for now, what was  _ that?”  _ Sophie waves her off, peering suspiciously around the room.

“What was what?” Agatha kicks something that looks distinctly like a purple jacket under the sofa.

“You panicked. What were you doing?”

“Oh. I was… uh, reading.” Says Agatha. “A very scary book.”

“Uh huh.” Says Sophie.

“And… you startled me.”

“And apparently you also smudge your lipstick when you’re reading?”

“I bite my lips.” Agatha says, deadpan.

Sophie raises her eyebrows.

Agatha changes the subject.

“But hey, what’s the problem?” she asks, ushering Sophie to sit down. “Have you been crying?”

Sophie hesitates.

At the time, telling Agatha had seemed like a very natural, sensible thing to do. Now it feels like Doomsday.

Apparently Agatha can tell.

“Okay, um… you can tell me later. How was the party?”

Sophie opens her mouth to say  _ great,  _ remembers Stefan, the suitors,  _ Adonis _ \- and bursts into tears.

“I’m in love with Nicola!”

There is a very long pause.

Sophie considers how utterly ridiculous (and kind of lame) it sounds, even as she cries into one of Agatha’s cushions, embroidered badly with what she thinks is maybe Reaper. It could also be a roast chicken. Agatha is fond of both, and also terrible at embroidery.

Agatha blinks once, twice. Opens her mouth and shuts it again.

“Um… really?”

“Ye-es!” Sophie sobs. “Oh, I danced with her earlier and I didn’t realise, and now I’ve ruined everythingggg--”

Agatha looks rather startled. Sophie doesn’t blame her.

“… I’m sure you haven’t ruined  _ everything--” _

_ “I didn’t recognise her and told her I was in love with someone else _ !” Sophie wails.

Agatha stares at her. Sophie cries harder, remembering the look on her face, seconds before Sophie had realised who she’d been with.

“…okay, that is quite bad.” Agatha mumbles.

There is a rather despairing silence, punctuated only by Sophie’s sobs and Agatha’s awkward offering of tissues-

“I don’t think I should be listening to this.” Peeps the bathroom door.

Sophie and Agatha both stop at the same time.

Agatha’s eyes widen--

She lunges for the door at the same time Sophie does, but Sophie elbows her into a side table, grabs the handle, slaps away Agatha’s hand on her arm, and wrenches it open-

Agatha grabs Sophie, slips, Sophie pulls her hair, Agatha shoves her, Sophie trips, drags her down with her--

And both of them land, hard, on someone’s back.

“OW!“

“Who’s that?” demands Sophie.

“Who’s _ that?”  _ yelps whoever they’ve fallen on- in a very familiar voice.

“…  _ Tedros?”  _ Sophie splutters.

“…no?” squeaks the distinctly Tedros-like voice, several octaves higher than usual.

Sophie tries to sit up, Agatha yanks her back down, Sophie shoves her onto the carpet and extracts herself from the mess of limbs they’re all stuck in-

Yep, definitely Tedros.

The knight stares, panicked, at Agatha, who stares at Sophie, who stares back at Tedros.

Several things fall into place for Sophie. Nicola and Hort’s ribbing. Tedros’s constant presence. The matching outfits. Childhood friends.

...how romantic.

_ “Reading _ ?” Sophie says sceptically to Agatha, as Tedros tries to surreptitiously inch his jacket out from under the sofa.

Agatha glares at her.

“…book club?” offers Tedros plaintively, remaining on the floor.

“Very  _ intimate  _ book club.” Sophie muses, staring pointedly at his bare back. “Meets very often, too.”

She can’t believe she didn’t notice. Who else could turn up to a ball with only a jacket on his top half and  _ not  _ get bullied by Agatha?

“We like to keep up to date?” Tedros suggests, muffled, into the floor.

“What was your latest theme, forbidden romance--?”

“CAN WE GET BACK TO THE THING ABOUT YOU BEING IN LOVE WITH NICOLA, PLEASE.” Agatha barks, staggering upright.

“Can I stay?” says Tedros.

“No.” says Agatha, stomping over to yank him to his feet.

“But I’m  _ invested  _ now!” 

“Book club adjourned, gotta wait until next time-” Agatha heaves him into the corridor.

“I’m meant to  _ guard  _ you!” Tedros protests.

“Which most people would class as standing outside!” Agatha barks, and slams the door in his face.

“Okay, I’ll stand here.” Says the door. “Without my jacket.”

Agatha groans.

“What does your normal  _ guarding  _ consist of, sharing the same bed?” chirps Sophie.

Agatha does not respond.

“Wait, really?” Sophie splutters. “Because I was joking, but-”

_ “Back to Nicola.” _ Agatha interrupts, rather ferociously. Sophie clamps her mouth shut and hurls herself back onto the sofa.

“What do I  _ do?  _ I’m leaving tomorrow!”

“Um.” says Agatha. “Find her and tell her?”

“You think she’ll let herself be found?” mourns Sophie.

“Oh. I guess not.” Agatha bites distractedly at her nails, staring down at her.

“She saved me from those odious boys  _ and  _ Father.” sighs Sophie. “And I’ve  _ ruined  _ it!”

Agatha frowns.

“I spoke to your father.”

“I know, I saw you.” grumbles Sophie. “Seems to like you more than he likes me. What’d he tell you? Was he bursting with pride about his young princes? Was he telling you all about them? Maybe the Elders’ll try and betroth you to Adam--”

Agatha pulls a face.

“He’s 13. I’m 23.”

“They’ll just wait until he’s 18.” mutters Sophie.

“They tried to betroth me to the Prince of Foxwood when I was about 6.” muses Agatha. “I pulled his hair and shoved him in a pond, and they pulled out of it because they thought I was a witch.”

Sophie stares at her, exasperated.

“But actually, Stefan was asking me how you were.” Agatha says mildly. “I have to say, he wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Sophie doesn’t say anything, so Agatha carries on;

“I don’t think it’s entirely his fault, Sophie. The Elders… they’re not exactly deferring to him.”

“I  _ know.”  _ snaps Sophie. “But what can I do? I’m going home tomorrow. It’ll just go back to normal.”

They stay in a mournful silence for a few seconds.

“The  _ least  _ I can do is make it up to Nicola.” mumbles Sophie. “...Does Teddy know where she is?”

Agatha doesn’t respond, staring at some points

just past her, eyes unfocused. Sophie recognises the look, now-- it's the  _ I've just had an idea and I'm not listening anymore _ one. She sighs and goes to get him herself.

“Teddy, where’s Ni--” 

The corridor is empty. 

Sophie stares.

“Where’d he go? Aggie, he’s gone--!”

* * *

 

“ _ What?”  _ wheezes Tedros, staggering to a stop. Nicola spins furiously on him. He’s glad they’ve both still got their masks on (even if he is bare chested) because there’s slightly less chance of them being recognised.

Although it would have been nice if Nicola hadn't come barrelling towards him, yanked him from his position and dragged him off, at all. And also it would be nice if she wasn't shouting at him.

She shouted pretty loud.

“YOU HEARD ME!” howls Nicola. Tedros wishes she would be a bit quieter (they  _ are _ in the middle of the entrance hall) but he’s also slightly too horrified to care that Aurelia is watching them screeching at each other.

_ “Her? Me? _ ”

“IT’S ALWAYS YOU! EVERYONE ALWAYS LIKES YOU! BEATRIX LIKED YOU--”

“You are  _ not still _ hung up on  _ Beatrix!” _

_ “IT’S AN EXAMPLE, YOU PREENING GIT!  _ TURN HER DOWN!”

“She doesn’t  _ like  _ me!” Tedros heaves. “I don’t like  _ her!”  _

Honestly, he's lightly traumatised by the whole thing, and the idea that  _ she _ likes him is enough to make him want to die, a little bit. 

Nicola also looks like she wants him dead, though. Maybe she'll murder him at the next tournament. Lances are prime spearing material.

“WHO  _ ELSE _ IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE?” barks Nicola. “WHO  _ ELSE  _ FITS THAT DAMN CRITERIA?”

“Uh _ , you?” _

“She turned me _down_!” Nicola’s voice drops, and Tedros catches an unmistakable waver present in it. “ _She turned me_ _down_! Looked me right in the eyes and said there was someone else--”

“No.” Tedros insists. “She didn’t.”

Nicola goes right back to shouting.

“YOU WEREN’T THERE, YOU BRAINLESS BIMBO! NEXT YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME SHE DIDN’T RECOGNISE M--”

“ _ SHE DIDN’T RECOGNISE YOU!” _ Tedros shrieks. “SHE DIDN’T RECOGNISE YOU, SHE CAME RUNNING TO AGATHA CRYING ABOUT HOW SHE’D RUINED EVERYTHING BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T REALISE IT WAS YOU BUT SHE’S REALLY IN LOVE WITH YOU AND THEN I HEARD IT ALL BECAUSE I WAS IN THE BATHROOM BECAUSE SHE CAUGHT--”

Nicola slaps her hand over his mouth, hard. Really hard.

“Ow.” Tedros whimpers.

“Say all that again.” Nicola says, removing her hand slowly.

“She said to Agatha she didn't recognise you, cried, said she ruined everything, said she was in love with you, I heard because I was hiding in the bathroom?”

Nicola stares at the floor, chest heaving. For a moment, neither of them move. One of Stefan's sons is staring at them from by the staircase.

“If you're lying to me, I'll kill you in training and make it look like an accident.” Whispers Nicola.

“Please don't.” peeps Tedros. He's just remembered he's going on a date next week, and now wants to Not Die.

“Where is she?” demands Nicola.

* * *

 

“Wow.” says Hester, watching Sophie and Agatha sprint in the opposite direction to the one Tedros and Nicola have just taken. “We should really intervene.”

“Uh huh.” Says Anadil, head in her lap, wine glass in her hand.

Hester leans back on the stairs.

“Somehow I feel like that won't happen, though.”

“Funny, that.” 

Tedros and Nicola go up, Agatha and Sophie go down.

“Big palace.” says Hester.

“Very big.” agrees Anadil.

“Hard to find specific people.”

“Sure is.”

They look at each other and snort.

It seems they're waiting it out.

* * *

 

Sophie wakes up the next morning completely unrested, and dresses with furious vigour. She and Agatha had scoured the palace for hours, but Nicola was nowhere to be found. 

Agatha had convinced her to go to bed, and Sophie, reminded of the last time she'd been told to do that, had been too despondent to resist.

So now, she marches down to her last breakfast in Netherwood in a foul mood--

“Morning.” says Agatha cheerfully. Opposite her, Honora smiles nervously.

“Good morning, Sophie.”

Sophie stares at her. Honora goes pink.

“Sorry that I didn't get to see you at the ball last night. You looked very nice. I've been talking to Queen Agatha. It seem like you've had a good time…”

She trails off, anxiously awaiting a reaction.

Sophie remembers the last time they'd seen each other. Now she feels intensely guilty for it. None of this was her stepmother's fault.

She gathers herself and musters a smile.

“Yes.” She manages, sitting down with them. “Yes, it's been lovely.”

Honora looks relieved.

Agatha is looking at her. Sophie frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Agatha says brightly.

Sophie stares suspiciously at her. Bright and bubbly, Agatha is not, especially not in the mornings.

But Agatha doesn't acknowledge it, and Sophie turns back to Honora, bewildered.

“...so you enjoyed it?” prods Honora. “Even if you didn't really want to go?”

“Yes.” Sophie says, surprised at her own sincerity. “Although I would have preferred to come here on my own terms.”

Agatha and Honora exchange a glance. Sophie frowns.

“Where is Father, anyway?”

Honora bites her lip.

“He and the rest of the court returned to Gavaldon last night. I stayed here, because Queen Agatha and I wanted to discuss something.” She draws herself up a little. “I told the elders that I would make the decision on it. After all, I am the Queen.”

She pauses, glances at Sophie. But Sophie shrugs. She's not wrong.

“Of course. But make it quick, aren't we leaving soon?”

Honora looks at Agatha.

“You tell her.” says Agatha, buttering another crumpet.

“Tell me what?”

“...you're not leaving.”

Sophie stops with her cup of tea halfway to her mouth.

“...what?”

“Between us, Agatha and I-- and that knight of hers, who Stefan took a liking to-- convinced Stefan and the Elders to change the arrangements.”

“...change them?” 

Honora beams. 

“Agatha suggested that we appoint you our Ambassador to Netherwood! So you’d stay here, and represent our country in negotiations, and-- is that okay?”

Sophie is gawking at them openly.

“ _ Okay?”  _ she splutters. “That’s  _ brilliant!” _

“Great!” Agatha slams down her cup. “Come on, then--”

Sophie gets the distinct impression that Agatha has got this all planned as she is hauled out of her seat and dragged to the door--

Honora is watching them, still.

Sophie stumbles to a stop.

“Erm. Honora?”

“Yes?” 

“I’m sorry. For… well. For being a horrible, heartless cow?”

Honora stares at her. Sophie fumbles on;

“Um. There was really no reason for me to do that. Nothing I was angry at was your fault.”

Honora blinks at her. Sophie hates how surprised she looks. 

But then she smiles.

“Don’t worry. I always felt I understood you, even if you didn’t want me to. But maybe I could have stood up to the Elders a bit more. I’ll try.”

“I will. As well.” Sophie says quickly. “To be nicer, I mean. To everyone.”

“Yeah.” muses Agatha, as Honora waves them off. “I think you’ll make a decent ambassador.”

“ _ Decent?” _

“I gotta gauge something, first.”

“...what?”

Agatha trots ahead and doesn’t answer. Sophie hurries after her, frowning.

“Where are we going?” 

“Your office. To meet your staff.”

“I have an  _ office?  _ And  _ staff?” _

“Staff, singular.” admits Agatha, pushing the door open.

“Why, who--”

Nicola is sat on the desk, staring at them.

“Bye! See you later!” chirps Agatha, shoves Sophie inside, and slams the door. 

They listen to Agatha cackling to herself as she departs. 

Sophie stays standing where she is, eyes glued to the floor. Nicola is silent. 

An awkward pause swells between them. Sophie wonders vaguely if Agatha is slightly more romantically inclined than she lets on. The last 24 hours have been rather jarring--

“I really hope Tedros didn’t tell me wrong.” murmurs Nicola.

Sophie’s head shoots up.

“What? What did he tell you?”

Nicola doesn’t respond.

This is  _ horrible,  _ thinks Sophie. Tedros, telling Nicola something about her? As far as she's concerned, it's just below  _ accidentally badly insulting your best friend _ in terms of horrifying.

Sophie rushes forward, grabs her arms. She catches that flowery scent again. Her heart’s in her throat.

“Nicola,  _ tell me, _ or I’ll tell you myself,  _ Teddy _ is hardly a reliable source--”

“No,  _ you _ tell me.” 

Sophie drops her arms.

Nicola swallows.

“I want to hear it from you.” she says softly.

Sophie’s mouth goes dry. 

_ How  _ could she not have recognised her? Of  _ course _ Nicola could dance. Of course Nicola would come to rescue her from those suitors, of course Nicola would spend all day making a costume to compliment hers, filled with tiny details and intricacies. 

And of  _ course _ she’d expect Sophie to recognise her.

She should have done. But she was too busy worrying about herself to realise.

She raises her head and looks Nicola in those liquid eyes.

“You already did.” she whispers. 

Nicola doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t drop her gaze, either. They’re at stalemate for a minute, and then-- 

And then Sophie realises she’s holding that book.

Nicola follows her gaze.

“You finished it.” Sophie says.

Nicola looks at the book. Then at her.

“He dies.” Sophie mumbles. “Adonis dies because of her, and Aphrodite moves on.”

Nicola looks at her.

Then she puts the book down. Puts it down and turns back to her.

“He’s only a stupid character.” 

Sophie blinks, surprised.

“But--”

“I told you, didn't I?” Whispers Nicola. “Flowers bloomed when Adonis died.”

And then she's kissing her. It's light, just in the corner of her mouth, and she draws back quickly, afraid of overstepping--

“Kiss me properly.” Sophie mumbles, displeased.

“Brat.” Says Nicola. 

“Please?”

Nicola snorts, and does not. Sophie groans.

“Fine. I love you, I messed everything up, and I want you to kiss me properly,  _ please _ .”

Nicola laughs, laughs loud and happy, and kisses her, properly.

Sophie grabs Nicola's waist, Nicola drags her closer, tangles her hand in her hair, Sophie doesn't even care she's messing it up. She could have stood there forever in Nicola's arms, feeling her lips against hers--

They part, gasping for breath. Damn human necessities.

“Oh.” Sophie says, chest heaving. “Oh.”

“Something tells me,” Nicola murmurs, face in her neck, “That we're not going to get much work done, if I'm your only staff member.”

Sophie laughs and wraps her arms around her neck, kissing her again and again and again--

“Jesus,” says Tedros from the doorway. “I refuse to work with you if you're gonna be like this.”

“GET OUT.” thunders Sophie.

“ _ You're  _ gonna complain about that?” goads Nicola, regrettably letting go of Sophie. “ _ You? You?” _

Tedros frowns.

“I'm very discreet.”

Nicola laughs so hard she falls off the desk.

* * *

 

Later, perched on Nicola's knee in Agatha's sitting room, Sophie frowns.

“What  _ did  _ Tedros tell you?”

Nicola snorts.

“He panicked and babbled about how you cried and said you ruined everything and you were in love with me.”

“...oh.” says Sophie.

“Who's an accurate source  _ now?”  _ Tedros demands from the door. Sophie ignores him.

“It's fake.” She declares.

“Uh huh.” Says Nicola, returning to her book. It appears she's only  _ sometimes _ romantic.

“I would never say that.” Sophie continues. “I'm aloof.” 

“You said it earlier.” says Agatha.

“HOW LONG WERE YOU TWO EAVESDROPPING  _ FOR?”  _ thunders Sophie.

“I was concerned.” Says Agatha, without a hint of shame.

Sophie groans.

“I heard you apologised to Honora.” Says Nicola.

Sophie nods slowly.

“Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Nicola is squinting at her.

“No reason. Just wondering if you're the same girl who called Agatha a matron. I guess you must not be, because I wouldn't have snogged her--”

“WILL YOU  _ EVER _ LET THAT GO?”

“No.” Nicola says. Agatha high fives her behind Sophie's back.

Nicola is right, though. She's not the same girl she was, three months ago.

She still has the same problems, though. But right now, they're far away, and when they do come, for real, she'll know how to deal with them. 

And, for the first time, she’ll have people who will help her bear the burden. 

“Nicola, we got briefing.” Tedros says from the doorway. Nicola groans.

“I'm ill.”

“I’m running it, and I  _ know  _ you're not.” Huffs Tedros.

Nicola sighs, kisses Sophie's cheek and unceremoniously deposits her on the sofa. 

“Until later, princess.”

Sophie waves them off cheerfully. Agatha rolls her eyes.

“You're already having far too much fun.”

“I am, aren't I?” Smiles Sophie. Then she notices her face, notices the slightly squinted eyes and clenched jaw. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Agatha says, sounding truthful. “But… um, how would you feel if I told you your first big thing as ambassador?”

Sophie blinks.

“...Fine. Fire away.”

“It'd require talking a lot of people, from a lot of different countries, because you'd need to connect with the other ambassadors and help them organise guests and stuff--”

“This isn't another ball, is it?”

“No.” Agatha says stiffly, her rash making an appearance. “No.”

Sophie squints at her, suspicious.

“What are you talking about? How big is this event?”

“Not massive, hopefully.” Agatha murmurs, almost to herself. “Don't think I could cope with that many people…”

She trails off.

Sophie is utterly bewildered.

“Erm. What?”

There is a pause. Agatha stares at her hands, slightly wild-eyed. Sophie is getting worried.

“Aggie--”

“Is there such thing as a Knight consort?” Agatha blurts. “Or would he have to be a prince? Because I think he'd prefer to stay a knight, we joked about it before… but obviously I haven't asked him, properly, so I can't be sure if he--”

“A  _ WEDDING _ ?” screams Sophie. Reaper hisses.

“Yes! Shhh!” Agatha splutters. “Well, no, like I said, I haven't asked yet, and I didn't want to take the attention off of you and Nicola and-- and--”

“THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE! I GET TO KISS NICOLA AND NOW YOU'RE GONNA MARRY TED--”

“SHUT UP!”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I randomly start using -- dashes halfway through, I only learned how to use them a month or so ago, and the idea of going through and changing every single one made me want to weep
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! Would you want to see more of this au? If so, what? Do you have any unanswered questions? 
> 
> Also, can someone PLEASE tell me if the romance is cringe. Please!!!! Don't leave me in the dark on this!!!!!!


End file.
